Start Over, Try Again
by bluebunny28
Summary: It was just another undercover operation. Not like they didn't do them every other week, at least. Except this time, it ended with Neal getting hurt. Badly. Luckily, he didn't remember any of it. Amnesia!fic
1. Chapter 1

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 1

 **For any of you who remember the poll I put out a long time ago, here is the winning White Collar plot line! I know it's been a while since I've done a White Collar fic, but I've been busy. My other stories stretched on much farther than I had originally intended. However, I secretly working on this story as I finished the others ;)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Code Word**

 _"What's the code word, Neal. I'm not letting you go in there until I hear it come out of your mouth."_ Neal rolled his eyes at the FBI agent in his ear, and sighed.

"Plane. Now, let me go inside, before I look even more suspicious than I already do lingering at the doorway." Back in the van, Peter mimicked his partner's earlier actions and rolled his eyes. Lifting the walkie talkie to his mouth, he gave the go ahead.

"You'll think of something. Now, go before you're late for your meeting." Jones was currently on van duty with Peter, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at his boss and CI. They bickered like an old married couple, as his Mama used to say, and really it was the only thing remotely interesting about getting stuck in the van. He got to listen to those two go at it, and see their respective facial expressions.

They watched via the button camera on Neal's jacket as he entered the fancy lobby and was approached by a tall, muscular man in a generic but obviously expensive suit. _Security_ , they all thought at the same time.

"Mr. Landom? We've been expecting you." Neal chuckled, and the camera jostled as he slipped something, his phone, into his pocket.

"Yes, sorry about that. The wife loves to nag." The man didn't crack a smile or any other facial expression for that matter, and only turned, expecting Neal to follow. They all started to feel a bit uneasy about this. Neal stayed relaxed however.

He followed the man up the elevator and into…an empty floor. There were no offices or anything of the kind that would suggest this floor was being used for anything.

"What is this?" The large man grabbed Neal's arm when he started to back away. Neal didn't struggle, but he sure as hell made his displeasure known. "I thought I was meeting with Johnson."

"You are." There was no expression on the man's face, though Neal could almost feel the smugness washing off of the guy.

" _Neal, Neal! We are coming in there. Just hang on!"_ Neal clenched his jaw, and could only hope Peter got there in time to prevent what was likely to be an unpleasant 'meeting'. Though the agent was jumping the gun, Neal appreciated it. The con man didn't think he was going to get out of here completely unscathed.

They rounded a corner, and Neal was surprised to find a lone desk sitting at the far end of the room. He nearly rolled his eyes at the scene, as he had seen it in one too many movies, but figured he probably shouldn't. The man behind the desk looked up as he heard them approach and smiled at them. That scared Neal more than the giant with his hand locked around his arm. Mr. Johnson stood as they got closer.

"Mr. Caffrey, so nice of you to join us." Neal tensed as he heard his name pass the man's lips. _Damn_. He couldn't figure out what had gone wrong, but this man knew his real identity, and that never ended well for him. The mark laughed as he saw the surprise on Neal's face and pulled a gun out of his desk drawer.

"I have _very_ good security, Mr. Caffrey, and they do very thorough background checks. I don't know what you were hoping to accomplish, but I will give you a choice." Johnson ran his fingers over the weapon, not looking at the tense con man. "Help me. There are a few things that I would like for you to acquire for me. Do this and I'll let this little indiscretion go. Or…" The man simply lifted the gun to point it directly at Neal's forehead. "I let you stain my floor. Your choice." Neal did roll his eyes then, because obviously this guy had seen too many movies, but he could not help but feel ever so slightly relieved. It seemed that despite how good Johnson's security team was, they weren't thorough enough to figure out he was helping the FBI. Small miracles.

Neal backed up again, but was blocked once more by the bulky security guard. His large hands wrapped around Neal's upper arms and held him in place.

"Look, I've got a plane to catch this afternoon, so I don't think this will work out." The door to the stairwell burst open then, and the FBI poured in, Peter, Diana and Jones leading the pack.

"FBI! Mr. Johnson, drop your weapon and put your hands up." They all had their guns trained at the two men beside Neal, as the muscle man had also pulled a gun. The guy still held tight to Neal, and even dragged him partially in front of him as a shield. It really wasn't his day, Neal thought. Instead of giving in to his shock like most of their marks usually did, this man's rage boiled over. One glance at the security guy and shots started to ring out. The big guy was taken out easily, and Neal was dragged down with him. The back of his head met concrete, and his vision blacked out for a moment. When he could see again, he didn't hesitate to do the first thing that came to his mind. _Run!_

There was something none of them were counting on though.

There was a third man on the floor, with another gun. Neal spotted him when he skidded around the corner, and just when he heard the gun shots stop behind him, he saw the weapon aimed at him.

"Peter!" The FBI agent turned just in time to see his CI turn to run. The shooter didn't hesitate, and Neal was just a second too late. The shot rang out and when everything went black this time, it stayed black.

* * *

"Neal!" Peter's heart stopped when he heard the shot and saw Neal go down. Without another thought, his feet were flying him across the room, and his gun fired off a few rounds. None of them hit, and he barely saw someone fleeing out of the corner of his eye, before he stopped. He wanted to chase the man down, but he had to check on Neal. See if…if…

As Peter knelt by his CI, Diana and Jones rushed past him to try and catch up with the shooter. The agent saw red, and not just anger. There was so much red pooling around Neal's head. Peter's fingers shook as he reached forward to feel for a pulse. Everything around him was muffled as his focus was taken up completely by his fallen friend.

He nearly shouted for joy when he felt a pulse beating under his finger tips.

"Call in an ambulance! Agent down!" No one corrected him. At this point, Neal was one of them, and it was hard on everyone when they saw him bleeding on the ground. Peter motioned another agent over, and they gently rolled Neal onto his back. They were confused however, when they didn't see the wound right away. Peter began to gently feel around Neal's head and came across the gash in the back first. Wincing in sympathy, he continued to card his fingers through Neal's hair. He found the wound on the side of his CI's head. The bullet had grazed his head, causing profuse bleeding. Neal's unconsciousness was probably a combination of the head wound, gun shot wound, and shock.

"Boss," Peter looked up to find Diana and Jones hurrying towards him. He scowled at not seeing a shooter in their custody. The two agents were scowling too.

"He got away. Slipped into the stairwell and just disappeared. How's Neal?" Peter was not happy to hear that the shooter got away, but right now his CI was his focus.

"He has a nice gash on the back of his head, and the bullet grazed the side of his head, hence all of the blood. His breathing is fine though, and so is his heart rate. I think it was mainly pain and shock that caused him to fall unconscious." Peter stopped and perked up when EMT's came into view. He ushered them over and stepped back to let them work.

The paramedics got Neal onto a stretcher, and Peter insisted on coming with them in the back of the ambulance.

"Sir-" Peter flashed his badge.

"This man is my confidential informant, and the man who shot him got away. I'm coming." With a sigh the EMT let him in the back, and Peter told Diana and Jones to secure the scene before coming to the hospital.

When they arrived, Neal was quickly taken in the back, and Peter was forced to remain in the waiting room. This gave him plenty of time to pace, call El, and pace.

El was horrified when she heard the news, though she felt a bit guilty over the initial relief that it wasn't Peter who was shot. She insisted on coming to the hospital, saying she would call Mozzie and June to let them know. Peter hung up and was back on his feet. At one point, he was given forms to fill out, but he left most of Neal's medical history blank. The only thing he could really fill in was the bare minimum information the Bureau had on Caffrey and the health insurance provided for the employees. Diana and Jones showed up when he was finishing up with the paperwork.

"Peter, anything?" He shook his head.

"Not yet." Clinton peeked at what he was filling out and snorted.

"I'm not sure if any of that is going to be helpful." Peter glared at him.

"Do you want to fill it out?" Jones held his hands up in surrender, and Peter gave the forms to the nurse. He stopped her, before she could get away.

"Is there any news?" She promised to check, and left them all standing there once more. Peter and Jones settled into the uncomfortable chairs, while Diana, unable to keep still decided on getting some crappy hospital coffee. When she returned, the other two agents were right where she had left them. Peter broke the silence.

"What could you get on the shooter?" Diana shook her head.

"Not much. He was wearing dark clothes, nothing distinctive. Dark hair. Caucasian. Maybe late thirties? That's it. Never saw his face." Jones nodded.

"He was fast and knew exactly where he was going. If he didn't work for Johnson, then he sure knew his way around." This gave Peter something to think about, get his mind off of Neal. However, that only lasted for a few moments, because the nurse came back. Well, rushing back more like it.

"You are family of Mr. Caffrey right?" Scared by the look on her face, Peter only nodded. Not seeming to care if he was lying or not, she gestured for him to follow her.

"Is everything alright? What happened?" The nurse looked back at the small group of agents following her.

"He insists on leaving, and the doctor is afraid if someone doesn't calm him down, he'll jump out a window or crawl through a vent to do it." Jones snorted, because they all knew Caffrey could do it. However, Peter was more disturbed by the fact that Neal was throwing a fit. It was common knowledge that his CI didn't like hospitals, especially being a patient in one, but he wasn't the type to fight. He would try and charm the nurses to let him out, and if that didn't work, simply pout.

He heard them as they got close to the room. Their voices weren't really raised, but it was clear Neal was unhappy.

"Look, I don't see why you can't just let me go home. You stitched me up, right? So, I'm fine." Peter's brow furrowed. It was Neal's voice, but…something seemed off.

"We really must insist that you stay for observation, at least overnight, Mr. Caffrey-"

"Why does everyone keep calling me that?!" The trio of agents stopped in their tracks, shared a look and hurried into the hospital room. They found Neal, a doctor and a male nurse all gathered by a hospital bed. Neal appeared to be trying to find his clothes or simply get out of the bed, but the doctor was blocking his path, and the male nurse kept trying to push him down. Peter didn't like how rough the nurse was being and stepped in.

"Excuse me, what are you doing?" The nurse scowled until he saw the badge Peter flashed at him.

"The patient is refusing to stay and listen to the advice of his doctor. We were told he wasn't allowed to leave unless it was with his…keeper." Diana opened her mouth to give the guy a piece of her mind, when Neal beat her to it.

"Keeper? I'm not a dog. Now, could you get your hands off of me?" When the nurse looked at him skeptically, Neal sighed dramatically. "Please." The nurse slowly released him, and Neal crossed his arms, surreptitiously rubbing the spots when the man had held him. Peter narrowed his eyes at the nurse.

"Who told you that?" Peter knew he hadn't said anything. He never has, then again, Neal hasn't ever ended up in the hospital like this. The agents saw that the nurse was starting to get pissed and as he opened his mouth for, no doubt, some sort of rude remark, the doctor cut him off.

"The EMT told us that Mr. Caffrey was a confidential informant for the FBI." It seemed like a lot of interrupting was going on today, because before Jones could comment, Neal did.

"FBI?! What the Hell are you all talking about?"

* * *

 **Well? What did you think? Did you miss my White Collar stories? :)**

 **Let me know! Please review. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 2

 **Hey all! I got some great feedback on the first chapter! Glad you are enjoying it. :) I wanted to let you know that I will not be updating next week, as I will be on vacation in a place with no wifi. I will keep writing though and be back with some awesome new chapters.**

 **Also wanted to let you know that I will be returning to college in a couple of weeks, and my updating becomes sporadic then. Sorry, but education comes first and if I don't have the time or brain power I won't update. I want to give you my best and if I can't manage it because of papers or tests, then you'll just have to be patient with me. Thank you.**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Distorted**

Neal was sitting in a hospital bed, looking irritated beyond belief. The rough nurse was no longer in the room, as the doctor had sent him somewhere else after his behavior. The doctor, meanwhile, was meeting with the three agents outside the room, each of them periodically peering back in at Neal. Peter sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Alright, doc. What the Hell is going on?" The doctor seemed just as frustrated as them, though no doubt from having to deal with an irate Caffrey for who knows how long.

"Well, when Mr. Caffrey came in, we only noticed the bullet wound at first. It was only a graze, deep, but easily stitched up. It will probably scar, but it's straight and can easily be covered up if it becomes an issue. When we were doing that, we noticed the trauma to the back of his head. Mr. Caffrey didn't wake up until we had just finished cleaning it. It still needs stitches, but he wouldn't let us near him, and was confused and irate. He grew more confused when we called him by his name. Caffrey is his name correct?" Peter gave a bitter huff of air.

"As far as we know. He's one of the most talented con artists the FBI has ever caught and has over a dozen aliases. Caffrey was the name on the birth certificate we found." In case, Neal's past influenced the doctor, "Look, he's a good kid. He's just extremely talented and made a lot of decisions." The doctor nodded absently, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"His career choice won't change how I treat him. Putting all of this together, though, I might consider, in conjunction with a severe head wound, concussion and being shot at…Mr. Caffrey might have a form of amnesia." Diana turned and walked a few steps away shaking her head. Jones snorted at first, until he realized the doctor wasn't kidding, and Peter sighed and hung his head. To an outsider, he might look frustrated and put upon, but anyone who knew Peter Burke, would know that he was greatly concerned for his friend.

"Is it permanent?" The doctor shook his head.

"Unfortunately, we can't know. His memories could return in a few hours, days, weeks even years…or maybe not at all. The brain is a very tricky thing. Also, we can't know the extent of his amnesia. It could be that he's lost all of his memories, or only a few years." When none of the agents said anything, the doctor continued. "Look, I still need to stitch up his head. Maybe if one of you could come in with me and try to keep him calm? I would also much prefer to keep him overnight, due to the head trauma. Any way you can help me convince him of that would be great. And-" he gave all of them a hard look. "Mr. Caffrey is going to need someone to look out for him for a few days, should he decide not to stay and see if his memory comes back. Will he have help?" Peter knew he liked the man then. He didn't just see Neal as another sick person he had to work on, but was honestly concerned for his patient's wellbeing.

"He can stay with me." It was out of his mouth before he could even think about it. Peter froze for a moment, but relaxed when he realized that El would probably insist when she heard the news. Besides, he knew for a fact June was out of town and an amnesiac Neal Caffrey was not something NYC needed loose on the streets. Peter would only admit to himself (and, alright, probably his wife) how he truly cared for Neal, like a big brother, possibly father, and didn't want to see the kid hurt himself.

"Doctor, should I…play along with this? Or should I try to tell him who he is?" The doctor pursed his lips.

"For now, I need him calm. I don't think he'd react well to telling him who he is, so for now…just talk to him."

Peter nodded, and the doctor motioned for the agent to follow him into the room. Before he went in, the senior agent addressed the younger.

"Diana, I need you to intercept El, if she shows up before we come out. Jones, see if they've made any progress on the shooter. If they haven't, make sure they do by the end of the day." Jones nodded grimly. Neal was part of their team now and someone hurt him. That someone was going to pay. Diana stationed herself outside of Neal's room, and Peter finally followed the doctor in.

Neal still looked decidedly unpleased to be there, though Peter could see the fear and uncertainty clawing behind his eyes. He looked between Peter and the doctor. To try and ease the young man's mind a bit, Peter settled himself down in a chair near the bed.

"Alright, Bud, the good doctor here needs to stitch up the back of your head. Are you gonna let him, now?" Neal's lips pinched together but he finally agreed. The doctor looked visibly relieved, but neither man missed the tenseness in Neal's shoulders when the man came back with a needle and thread. Peter had never considered that maybe his friend hated hospitals because he was afraid of needles. To distract him, he struck up a conversation.

"So you don't want us calling you Caffrey. Wanna tell me your name, then?" Neal kept his back to the doctor completely, wincing and clenching the bed sheets in his hands while the man worked.

"Uh..Nick. You can call me Nick." Peter almost smirked at Neal settling on an old, favored alias of his, but kept his face carefully neutral.

"Okay, Nick. What do you remember? Can you tell us about the man that attacked you?" Neal went to shake his head, but then whimpered as it tugged against the needle threading through his scalp. Peter automatically reached out and laid a hand on Neal's shoulder. His friend calmed down some and held still. The doctor met Peter's eyes over Neal's shoulder and mouthed, 'Thank you.'

"I-I don't really remember being attacked. I was shot though right? Was it a mugging?" Peter opened his mouth to answer, when Neal got a wary look on his face. "But if it was just that then the FBI wouldn't be here. Why are you here?" The doctor was still working, so Peter didn't want to agitate his friend too much.

"You got caught in the crossfire during one of our operations. We didn't catch the man responsible on site, and only you got a look at him." Neal's eyes were wide and disbelieving.

"Man, barely been here and I've already got shot." Peter blinked a few times, trying to give his mind time to process what he had just heard. Not only was the grammar terrible, something Neal would have winced at, but…

"You haven't been in the city long then?" Neal moved to shake his head, but winced when it tugged on the thread going through his scalp. The doctor laid a calming hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Try not to move, please, Nick. I'm almost done." Neal bit his lip and stared resolutely ahead. His muscles were taut from the effort he was putting in to holding still. That sight alone almost broke Peter's heart, seeing Neal so scared…and young. The agent looked closely at his friend, but instead of seeing him as someone he had known for years, Peter looked at him as if he was a stranger. A victim he had just met.

For as many times as Peter referred to Neal as kid, now he really did look like one. A kid who should be in college and calling home on the weekends for the sake of his mother. Not the young man who had stolen and counterfeited millions of dollars worth of art and conned his way through life. 'Nick' really was nothing like Neal Caffrey.

Finally the doctor finished up with the stitches and patted Neal on the shoulder.

"All done, Nick. Do your best not to get these wet." Neal nodded gingerly, and looked to the man eagerly.

"When can I get out of here?" The doctor smiled as if bracing himself for another outburst.

"Well, Nick, considering the trauma you sustained to your head, and that you were unconscious when you were brought in, I would highly recommend you staying at least for tonight. We'll see how you are doing in the morning, and then _if I clear you,_ you can go home with Agent Burke." Neal's eyes widened and his jaw dropped open.

"What? But-" He turned to look at Peter. He watched as Peter and the doctor had some sort of silent conversation, before the other man left the room. Neal looked back at Peter, suddenly seeming very nervous. "What's going on?" Peter leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Nick, I'm gonna have to ask you to really trust me right now, okay?" Peter waited for his friend to nod before he continued. "Alright. You were unconscious when you were brought in, because you had been shot and hit your head. You were working with me on a case and got hurt. When you woke up…" Peter sighed. "You have amnesia, kid. You are a conman, my CI and my friend. As far as we know, your name is Neal Caffrey." Neal was quiet the entire time Peter spoke. He was staring at the ground, not moving.

"How long have I known you?" Peter was a little surprised at the question, but another part of him thrilled at it.

"You became my CI three years ago, and I chased you for about four years before that. We've been friends for about two years." Neal nodded slowly and carefully.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you then." Peter opened his mouth to say that it wasn't the kid's fault, when his friend's brows pinched together and Neal asked him a question.

"How old am I?" Peter watched Neal carefully as he said,

"You're thirty-seven." The kid's eyes bugged out and he looked like he was starting to panic.

"I lost over twenty years! But-" He had spotted something in the room, and then glared at Peter. "Why did you lie to me?" Peter's mind was buzzing as he tried to keep up with what Neal was saying, still stuck on the twenty years bit.

"What? I didn't-"

"Yes you did! That newspaper says it's May 2014. I'm only twenty-six." It was Peter's turn to shake his head.

"No. No way. You were born in 1977. You are thirty-seven." Neal rolled his eyes and huffed a frustrated breath.

" _No._ I was born in 1988, September 10th. I am _twenty-six._ " Peter just couldn't stop staring, trying to make the connection between this information he was being given and the man in front of him. His _friend._ To be honest, the first thing that came to mind was that Neal had lied to him. Neal looked him in the eye and said that he never lied to him, when he had been doing so all along.

Some of that bitterness must have seeped through to his face, because Neal started to look concerned and a bit scared.

"I-Look, that doesn't change things. Why-why would that change things?" Peter rubbed his hands over his face.

"You were just a kid." Neal bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at the ground, which just made things worse. Peter stood and opened his mouth a few times, trying to come up with an excuse. Luckily for him, he didn't have to come up with one.

"Diana? Where's Peter? Neal? Is everything alright?" Peter looked to the door and smiled reassuringly at the young man who looked confused at the commotion outside.

"It's alright. That's El- uh, my wife. I'll just…be right back." Peter would be lying if he said he didn't feel guilty for almost running from the room.

He found Diana stationed between the door and his wife, trying to calm her down. El looked very upset, and an obvious frustration was setting into her features.

"Boss," Diana said, when he opened the door. He almost smirked at the small amount of desperation in the agent's voice. Everyone knew not to mess with Elizabeth Burke.

"Peter! What's going on? Is Neal alright?" Peter pulled her into a hug, though to be honest it wasn't just for her sake. He was quiet for a few moments, before El spoke up. "Peter?"

"He's alright, physically." El pulled back and gave him a look that clearly said _Explain._ "He has some stitches across his head, where the bullet grazed him, and the back of his head where he hit the floor, hard. But, he has some sort of…amnesia. It's like he's lost years of his life, and from what I'm gathering he thought he had just come to New York for the first time." El took this all in stride, though she seemed a bit more distressed and concerned.

"Wait, so he does he know he has amnesia?" Peter nodded.

"Yes, I told him, once the doctor finished stitching him up. We don't know if it's permanent or not… but," Peter took a deep breath, looking between his wife and his agent. "He, Neal revealed some… _interesting_ information." Diana raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, clearly thinking it was going to be something illegal. "We've got his date of birth all wrong. Neal says he's twenty-six." Diana scoffed, but raised a brow when she realized that Peter believed him. El was just as shocked, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"Neal's…no. Then he was just…Neal was just a baby when-," Peter clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Not a baby, but yeah. He was…too young." The trio turned when they heard Jones approaching them.

"Any news?" Jones grimaced.

"Yes and no." Jones greeted El, before continuing. "They were able to figure out how the shooter got out of the building so fast, and which direction he went, but the guy was smart, Peter. Like really smart. He was able to hide his face from every camera, and managed to not run into anyone else in the building. This guy knew exactly what he was doing." Peter sucked in his lips in thought and put his hands on his hips. He glanced at both of his agents.

"You think we're dealing with a professional?" Diana and Jones shared a look, before they both nodded. Peter rubbed his hand over his face and looked into the room where his friend was sitting. Neal was the only one who had seen the guy's face. And if Peter knew anything about professional killers….

It was that they didn't leave any witnesses

* * *

 **Just making you all aware that everything I know about police procedure and such has come from too many tv shows. Same for any and all medical treatments. Don't take this as fact.**

 **I also like making Neal younger than he is in the show (and I didn't do much math, I kind of just picked a number).**

 **Please review. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 3

 **Hey! I'm back! Guys, I want to make one thing clear: I don't abandon stories. Me going to college just means that I won't be able to update on a regular schedule as much as you or I would like. This will be** **finished; it's just going to take longer than it would if I were in high school and the work was ten times easier.**

 **Thanks for the love, and here's another chapter!**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Busy Hands**

Neal sat on the hospital bed, lost in thought. The agent, Peter, seemed sincere when he told him that they were friends. Then he got really upset, when Neal told him how old he was. He had never had good encounters with agents of any sort. While the man seemed to have genuine concern for him…maybe he was just lulling him in to a false sense of security. It wouldn't be the first time.

He could see a small group, including Peter outside of his room. It was obvious that they were talking about him. However, he was surprised to see the woman that had to be the agent's wife so distraught. She was probably fussing over her husband, since if Neal was shot, certainly her husband was in danger as well. Either way, it wasn't his concern. Neal had to figure out how to get out of here, before the FBI agent decided to flip the tables on him.

Maybe the agent was telling the truth, but Neal just couldn't take any chances. He would have to wait till nighttime to make his move. There was no way he could sneak out of a crowded hospital in broad daylight. That would be impossible.

The hard part then, would not be playing along until his chance came, but making sure he didn't get handcuffed to something. Neal had only just started learning how to pick locks, and according to the FBI agent "Peter", Neal was a criminal consultant. All he knew was criminals got handcuffed.

He was lucky, he thought as he examined the room. He was on the first floor, and he was lucky that there was a window in his room. From what he could tell, it opened, not much, but it opened. They would never expect any of their sick patients to go out the window.

Neal smiled to himself. He had a plan and would be out of there and long gone before anyone noticed.

Just then the door to his hospital room opened and in came Peter Burke…with his wife in tow. Neal was not entirely sure what was going to happen and it put him on edge. Peter looked like he was approaching a frightened animal, which Neal did not appreciate.

"Neal, this is my wife El. She came over when she heard what had happened to you." Now that was not what Neal was expecting to hear, and he apparently did not keep that from his face. Something to work on. El's face fell as she looked Neal over, and she stepped forward to lay a hand on his arm.

"How are you, Sweetie? I mean, besides the whole amnesia thing." Despite not knowing her, Neal felt himself immediately relax under El's touch. From what he could tell, she was genuinely concerned for him. The last person to care that much about him was…Ellen. Neal shook those thoughts from his head and quirked up the side of his mouth.

"Oh you know, headache, but nothing too bad. They stitched me up, so I'm not sure why I'm still here…" He trailed off giving his best puppy dog eyes to El. New plans began to form in his head. If he could convince the Fed's wife to get him out, then he could just slip away like he did with the Marshals. Instead of succumbing, however, El just laughed, soft and warm, and squeezed his shoulder.

"You know exactly why you are still here, Mister. You won't get me with those gorgeous blue eyes of yours. You don't remember, but I've had a few years practice against them." Peter laughed at Neal's following pout.

"It's true, Kid. She's never fallen for that. But don't worry. You won't be here alone tonight." Neal's head whipped so fast, Peter winced in sympathy.

"What?" Neal's slightly panicked/surprised expression confirmed Peter's suspicions that the kid would have tried to run that night. It was exactly the kind of thing Neal would have done…before.

"You didn't think we would leave you here in this hospital by yourself, did you? No! Peter and I are going to keep you company, and Diana and Jones will take turns keeping the door company." At that, it was Neal's turn to get suspicious…not that he ever stopped. He looked between the Fed and El, eyes narrowed.

"What aren't you telling me?" Peter sighed, and El's mouth pulled downward sharply.

"Neal, the man who shot you got away. We just want to make sure you stay safe until he's caught. Which means…" Peter pulled something from his back pocket and walked up to Neal's side.

"Give me your foot." Neal did, slowly, hesitatingly. That bothered Peter more than anything else. He was used to Neal propping his foot up tauntingly for Peter to replace his anklet. Then he would make some snarky comment about how he could never find the right socks to go with it, which would be followed by an intense debate over socks and the point of color coordination and…well, that was gone. For now.

Peter put the tracking anklet on Neal's ankle and the kid startled when it snapped into place.

"Is that a tracking anklet!?" The kid really sounded like a kid then…a whiny teenager in fact. So, semi-normal.

"Yep. We take it off for undercover assignments, but it goes right back on afterwards. You've got a 2 mile radius, and we can change your center point with the marshals anytime." Neal perked up at that.

"Marshals?" Peter wasn't liking the tone of Neal's voice when he said 'Marshals'. While the kid tried to act casual, there was an edge of panic in his voice. He grew still, like he was trying to not fidget and show that he was anxious. After all of these years, Peter Burke knew Neal Caffrey, amnesia or not. His partner always acted overly casual when he was actually distressed about something other than a case. It was like he become a perfect Neal Caffrey doll. However, if the kid didn't remember being an internationally renown con-man, it must have always been a habit of his.

Curious how one word flipped a switch like that. Something to keep an eye on, because now was not the time to prod.

"Yes. It's their tech you're wearing. A call goes out when you cross your boundaries, and we show up three minutes later. In fact… _you_ were the one who suggested the anklet." Neal seemed completely taken aback.

"Why would I ever do that?" Peter shrugged. He was not going to explain all about Kate. She caused enough trouble alive; he wasn't going to let her get to Neal after she had been gone for almost two years.

"You wanted to get out of prison, so you came up with this offer the FBI couldn't refuse. The Great Neal Caffrey, criminal consultant to the Bureau, with a little leash. That anklet was your ticket out." Neal grimaced and looked at the tracker dubiously.

"Well, however it happened, now you know you have to keep it on and stick with us. No sneaking off. Besides, I can promise much better food than this place, and Satchmo misses you." Neal, who had been panicking at not being able to escape, gave El a curious look.

"Satchmo?" El grinned widely, and pulled out her phone. She swiped until she found a picture of Neal and Satchmo playing and showed the man on the bed.

"He took to you immediately. He's started whining at the door when you aren't over every other day or so." As Neal stared at the picture, a smile slowly crept onto his face underneath the lack of recognition.

"I've always wanted a dog." Peter and El shared a look. Neal had never told them that, but it hadn't been hard for them to notice that Neal loved animals.

"Well, you'll get to see him tomorrow, when you come home with us." Neal didn't say anything to that, and his smile dropped off. Peter could tell that his partner was not thrilled with the idea. If Neal was himself, Peter would expect him to protest and insist that he didn't want to intrude. Instead, the kid was quiet and trying too hard to hide what he was thinking.

El, meanwhile, stepped forward and rubbed Neal's arm.

"Don't you worry. We'll get through this. You may not remember, but my husband is a top notch FBI agent. He'll find the man who shot you. Not to mention, I've got no doubt that your memories will come back soon. The Neal Caffrey I know would never let something like amnesia slow him down." The corner of Neal's mouth quirked up at that, but he didn't comment. He returned El's phone and sat back against his pillow.

The awkward silence that followed was thankfully interrupted by a visitor. Peter stood quickly when he found his boss walking into the room.

"Director Hughes." Reese nodded at his agent.

"Burke. Mrs. Burke." The director held out his hand as he greeted Elizabeth, then turned to Neal. The young man couldn't say that he recognized this new face, but something about him felt familiar. He exuded something that made Neal want to respect him, even if Neal didn't know who he was.

"Caffrey. I see you've gotten yourself into some interesting trouble again." Neal wasn't sure what to say to that, so he shrugged.

"I guess so….Sir." Peter's eyebrows flew up, completely shocked the Neal called the Director 'Sir', even though he was certain his partner didn't remember the man at all. Reese was a bit surprised too, though he only quirked one brow.

"Well, that is par for the course with you, so I can't say I'm surprised at all. Peter, where are we on this shooter? I don't like having people who shoot at our own roaming the streets." Peter was a bit calmed by the man acknowledging that Neal was part of their FBI 'family' of sorts, rather than writing him off as nothing but a con man.

"We are doing all we can right now, Sir. We are certain he is a professional, so we are looking into those in Johnson's circle who might have sent a hit man after him. I believe he was the target, and Neal just happened to get in the way. The problem is that Neal saw his face, so…" Hughes nodded.

"So whoever did this will be coming back to make sure he can't give a description to us." The room got quiet and tense after that, and Neal's stomach was buzzing uncomfortably. His fingers were itching to do something, and picking at the scratchy hospital blanket could only go so far.

"I've heard that Neal will be staying with you while he is recovering and you search for this guy. I don't want to have to call in other departments, but if I have to I will. I want this scumbag found." Reese looked as though he was going to leave, but then he looked back at Neal. Hughes reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out small squares of paper. He set them on the small table by Neal's bed.

"I don't want those hands of yours idle. I found those in your desk drawer next to a bunch of paper cranes, and I couldn't find a Rubik's cube." Neal was startled at the feeling welling up in his chest. It was…something like affection, but he couldn't quiet put his finger on it.

"T-Thanks, Sir." Reese nodded and then left. Peter and El were both stunned when they heard Neal stutter. Neal Caffrey did not stutter; it became another thing tacked onto the 'Things We Don't Know About the Real Neal' list. The list was starting to get uncomfortably long.

Neal meanwhile was examining the paper the Director had brought him. It was nice, simple and pretty. He picked up a piece and began folding, his fingers automatically knowing what to do.

"I wasn't sure you would remember how to do that." Neal's brows pinched together in confusion, and he looked up at Peter.

"My mom taught me when I was bored one day. I couldn't stop picking things up and fiddling with them, so she wanted me to at least do something semi-productive that wouldn't result in my breaking anything." The tone of Neal's voice suggested there was a bit more to that story than he was letting on. However, if he wasn't sharing, Peter wasn't going to push.

El smiled at the young man in the bed, then sighed.

"Well, I am going to head home for a little bit and get everything ready for tomorrow. I won't have you sleeping on the couch! See you in a couple of hours." Neal looked like he desperately wanted to protest, but El was hugging him gently and kissing Peter on the cheek. Peter smirked and watched his wife breeze out of the room, before the kid could get one word out.

Neal stared at the door for a moment, before pouting and folding his paper. Peter watched his partner and a familiar fondness washed over him. It had been hitting him more frequently lately, and he couldn't say it bothered him too much.

"Come on, Neal. You'll be safer with us, and I can guarantee you'll get much better food from El than from the streets." Neal flinched at Peter's knowing tone and kept his head bowed as if expecting more than a reprimand. The cowed look did not suit Neal in the slightest. "You wouldn't be Neal Caffrey if you weren't looking for a way out." The comment seemed to help, and Neal gave him a small smile.

Neal's unusually legitimate, innocent look caused righteous anger to flare up in Peter, as he thought back to what that hit man had done to his partner. They were going to find him and make him pay.

* * *

 **Boom! Hughes cameo! I see him as kind of secretly grandfatherly towards Neal. ;)**

 **See you next week!**

 **Please review. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 4

 **So I am officially back in college! Currently updating from my dorm room. :) Classes start on Tuesday, so I'm going to try and get as much writing done before then. Remember! College only means I won't update as regularly. I won't abandon my stories. :)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Shifted Perspective**

Neal was trapped, and it was his fault. He was too trusting and let himself get a tracker put on him. He almost slapped himself when he realized he never even asked to see ID, proof that the man he was talking to was actually an FBI agent. For all he knew, 'Peter' was actually a Marshal sent to sweet talk him into coming back.

Well, no Sir. That was _not_ happening. But….

That little doubt was wiggling in the back of his mind, and Neal scowled as it started talking. _What if Peter really is an FBI agent? What if he actually is your friend? He's been nothing but kind and patient with you since he's walked through that door._ Something about Peter threw him through a loop, and Neal found himself talking and saying more than he meant to.

The man in question was still sitting in his room. He was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed and feigning sleep. Neal wasn't sure how, but he could tell Peter wasn't actually sleeping.

After the man's wife (that part he did believe) had left, the agent hadn't pressed him for anymore information. He didn't pull out his phone to send messages or receive them. He just sat there with his eyes closed pretending to be asleep.

It was starting to grate on Neal's nerves. However, instead of wasting his time glaring at the agent, he poured his open minutes into making paper animals and flowers. His fingers had a mind of their own as they folded and shaped new things. Neal couldn't remember learning certain creations, but his body did, giving a bit more credence to the whole 'amnesia' thing. His mind wandered as his fingers moved, and soon Neal found himself drifting through what he remembered to be his last memory before waking up in the hospital.

* * *

 _Neal had to be careful. His mother had gone to bed a few hours ago, and it was that time of the night where the Marshals would be too tired to notice every little noise. But to be safe, Neal would be as quiet as a mouse._

 _His sore muscles protested his movements, but he couldn't stay any longer. He had to leave. A part of him felt like a coward, that he was leaving his mom alone with the Marshals, but Neal knew they never laid a hand on her. Besides, she was too drunk half the time to even notice other people were in the house._

 _Witness Protection had not gone over well with Julienne Bennet. It hadn't gone over well with Neal either, but for different reasons._

 _For years he had never understood why the Marshals did what they did, but when Ellen told him the truth about his father…it all made sense. His dad was a dirty cop. Even now the thought made his stomach churn. He used to wonder why the Marshals sneered and laughed when he said he wanted to be a cop, a_ hero, _like his dad. Now he knew._

 _Neal pushed those thoughts from his head as he crept down the stairs to the kitchen. The house was old, and the stairs creaked in multiple places, meaning Neal had to pay close attention to where he stepped. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when he reached the bottom without making a sound. Running his hands over his pockets one more time, ensuring he had the little bit of money on him, Neal slipped over to the back door, turned the lock and fled into the night._

* * *

Peter wasn't asleep. He also knew that Neal knew he wasn't asleep. That didn't mean he was going to stop pretending. He was observing Neal through the thinnest of slits between his eyelids.

The kid (and oh how that took on a new meaning for him than it had before) had had a rough day. If Peter hadn't witnessed it first hand, he would have been able to tell from the obvious slump of Neal's shoulders and the way he gently bit the inside of his cheek. Neal, well, the Neal from before, had a habit of biting the inside of his cheek every so often to force himself to pay attention and stay awake when he was worn out. So either his partner had always done it or those little mannerisms didn't just go away with his memories.

Neal seemed to be lost in his own head, and Peter was worried that the young man was going to gnaw right through his cheek. After a couple more minutes of observation, Peter feigned waking. He made sure to make enough noise to get Neal's attention, and sure enough, the young man looked up and stopped chewing his cheek.

"Hey Bud, I'm gonna go grab some food. I'll be right back. Try not to charm the nurses too much while I'm gone." The confused look on Neal's face was both endearing and heart wrenching.

"Uh, yeah sure. No problem." With a stilted nod, Peter left the room in search of sustenance.

As Peter left the room, he nodded to Jones posted outside the door. The walk to the cafeteria was uneventful and Peter simply bought the first thing that looked edible. Lost in thought as he was, the agent didn't notice just how _inedible_ the food was until he was half way finished. The rest swiftly made its way into the trash, and Peter stopped at a vending machine on the way back to Neal's room.

When Peter got back in the room, Jones had a smirk on his face. Peter raised a brow, and Jones gestured to the room.

"That Caffrey charm works memory or no." Peter pursed his lips and entered the room. He found a young nurse attending to Neal. It was obvious that the woman was taken in by the kid's good looks, but Neal himself wasn't even batting his eyelashes at her.

"Hey Bud. You alright?" The nurse jumped like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and Neal's brow furrowed in confusion.

"You were gone for ten minutes, maybe. I think I can stay out of trouble for that long." Peter snorted. _Not likely…_ The nurse looked a bit unsure as to her place now that her excuse for being in the room had runout. Neal seemed a little uncomfortable with her awkward flirting, and Peter had to fight not to laugh. The agent walked over to Neal's bedside and made a show of looking in the water pitcher.

"Would you mind getting Neal here some more water? Staying hydrated and all that." The nurse looked confused for a second before catching on and scrambling out of the room. Neal's brows furrowed together as he looked at the nearly full pitcher. Peter snorted.

"The first thing you do to my wife when you meet her is use the 'puppy eyes', but you don't know how to handle a pretty nurse?" Neal opened his mouth to protest, but the blushing of his cheeks gave him away. Neal's face only got more red, before he finally got out,

"Well…I've never…" The blush got deeper, and Peter just couldn't believe it. Neal Caffrey was saying…?

"Wait…how old are you kid? Well, how old do you think you are?" Neal crossed his arms and had to fight hard from biting his cheek.

"I'm…sixteen." Peter felt lightheaded all of a sudden and sat down on the edge of the narrow hospital bed.

"You're…oh my gosh." Peter dropped his head into his hands. He could hear Neal shifting behind him, but didn't look up.

"Look…I don't see what the big deal is. It's…I mean it's not like I'm sixteen _now_." Neal winced at his awkward speech but Peter only sighed. He finally pulled his head back up after a few moments.

"You're right. You aren't, even if you don't remember it. Sorry. I-" Neal stayed silent, feeling awkward and unsure of himself. The FBI agent had lost a friend and Neal didn't know how to fix it. And he really did…want to help, despite the loud voice in his head telling him not to trust a Fed. Before either of them could say anything, however, Peter's phone rang. Expecting it to be Diana with information, he quickly answered.

"Burke. Wha- Mozzie?" The strange name and the agent's sudden irritation attracted Neal's attention. "Neal's in the hospital, yes. No! No, Mozzie. Neal has some kind of amnesia There has been no brain washing! No, he's coming to stay with me. Mozzie, if you say one more word about Kennedy and satellites…He'll be fine, Mozzie. Yes." Peter rolled his eyes before hanging up the phone.

"Who's Mozzie?" Peter opened and closed his mouth trying to come up with the right words to describe Haversham.

"Well…he's a friend of yours…" Neal smirked.

"Oh. You mean another criminal." At Peter's raised eyebrows, Neal shrugged. "The way you said 'friend' either suggested partner in crime or you know… _more than friends_. But considering I know I'm not gay and you seem to be making me out to be a ladies man, I figured this Mozzie guy is a criminal I hang out with." Peter opened and closed his mouth again, before just shaking his head and snorting.

"Well, you're right. But he is a good friend of yours too. From what I've been able to get out of him, you guys met your first day in the city. You beat him at his own card scam. Thick as thieves ever since…literally." Neal took this new information in and furrowed his brow.

"But…if he's my friend…where is he? I guess..unless we aren't _good_ friend. In that case, I get it. I mean why would he-" Peter caught a hint of self-deprecation in Neal's tone and wasn't happy with it.

"Mozzie is an extreme paranoid, germaphobe conspiracy theorist. Trust me, Bud. He really does care about you. You guys are as close as cons get, but he hates hospitals. He'll come see you once you're at my house though. He and my wife are closer friends than I like." Peter's disapproving expression was enough to get Neal to crack a smile. It made Peter happy to know that he was able to lift his young partner's spirits. The moment was soon broken however, when Jones opened the door.

"Peter, Diana found something." The younger agent looked back and forth between the two men on the bed and raised a brow. Peter sighed and patted Neal's shoulder.

"I'll be outside, Bud." The kid rolled his eyes and shooed Peter off.

"Just because I think I'm sixteen doesn't mean I am. I can handle being in a hospital room by myself." Peter snorted at the ridiculous statement and left the room.

"Wait, did Neal just say what I think he said?" Peter nodded.

"Yeah. He says based on what he remembers and if I hadn't told him otherwise he would say he was sixteen. But anyway, what did Diana find?" Jones' hands went to his hips as he began to explain.

"So, turns out Neal's got some friends in Ballistics. They worked double time to try and match the bullets recovered at the scene." Peter wasn't surprised by the information. Neal wandered about chatting to people when he got bored, and Peter has found him in Ballistics more often than not. "They looked like they came from a nine millimeter, but there was nothing in the database that fit the bullets exactly."

"Then this guy's never been caught before or modified his weapon so it didn't leave recognizable marks." Jones tilted his head in acknowledgement.

" _Or_ …this guy built his own gun." Peter narrowed his eyes at the young agent in front of him and crossed his arms. A small incline of Peter's head told Jones to continue. "Diana was digging around and found something. There have been similar cases across the country where the casings recovered on the scenes didn't match any kind of gun on record. In all of the cases, the people the law enforcement officers were tracking got killed before they were taken into custody." Peter's eyebrows rose as the information continued.

"So, definitely a professional and a good one at that. Damn." Jones nodded.

"Yeah. And, Boss? Director Hughes told us that he doesn't want you to come into the office until this case is solved." When Peter opened his mouth to protest, Jones held up his hands. "You can still work the case, but since Neal is going to be at your place recovering, the Director feels it'd be better to have you there to keep an eye on him. I have no doubt that even an amnesiac Caffrey could easily slip by the typical protective custody. That is the last thing we want running around New York." Peter couldn't help a snort of agreement as he ran his hand down his face.

"Peter?" Both agents turned to see El coming down the hallway. Peter opened his arms and just held her for a few moments. Jones rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.

"Hon, while I appreciate the love, is everything alright?" Peter sighed into her hair before finally pulling away.

"Neal just has a way of attracting trouble. That…and he thinks he's sixteen." El's jaw dropped, and it took her a few moments to get words out.

"Oh! Well…um, I didn't think to go grocery shopping for a teenage boy, but…I'm sure I can make it work." Jones barked out a laugh which he was quick to turn into a cough. Peter sent a fond, disapproving look at the younger agent before directing El to the hospital room door.

"I'm sure it'll be fine. But just so you know, I've been put under house arrest until this case is over." El smiled and patted her husband's chest.

"Aw. I'll have both my boys home."

* * *

 **I just love throwing curve balls ;) If you can't tell, I'm going to be going through my own take/version of Neal's time and experiences in Witness Protection. You'll be seeing a lot more of that kind of stuff, don't worry. :)**

 **Please review. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 5

 **I don't know how, but I somehow managed to forget how tiring college is. It's only been a week...**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Who's Important**

Neal was surprised to see both Peter and Elizabeth come back through the door to his hospital room. He was also surprised at the warm feeling in his chest that rose up when they smiled at him.

El smiled brightly at him, and he couldn't help but return at least a small one. She reminded him so much of how his mother used to be…before everything.

"Hello, Sweetie. How are you feeling?" She had only been gone a couple of hours, but Neal felt oddly appreciative to her for asking…caring. His mom hadn't cared in a long time. Suddenly all the air went out of his lungs. He…he didn't remember years of his life. Neal thought he was sixteen but really…what if his mom was gone? What if she had drunken herself into another stupor and this time just didn't wake up and he hadn't been there or just didn't remember? What if the Marshals had given up on her and left her and his dad had come and hurt her and left her to die and-

"Neal! Breathe, Kid. C'mon." Neal finally gulped in a large breath and started breathing again, the air burning his lungs. He hadn't had a panic attack in a while…from what he could remember.

When Neal met Peter and El's concerned gazes, he tried (and failed) to stop a blush from welling up on his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a crooked grin.

"Well, I was going to say I'm fine." Peter and El looked duly unimpressed behind their concern. Neal couldn't keep his fingers still with all of the adrenaline and anxiety pulsing through his veins and fiddled with the hospital blankets. "Um…Peter? Could…I really need to make a call. Please? It won't take long, I promise." Peter's eyebrows hit a record height and his hands automatically went to his hips. Neal felt a strange sense of déjà vu. The FBI agent scrutinized him for a few moments, before narrowing his eyes.

"Fine. But El and I are staying in the room and don't think about calling a friend to bust you out of here." This time Neal rolled his eyes. He held out his hand for the phone.

"Fine, just…please." He must have looked and sounded really pitiful for the agent to whip his cellphone that fast. A small voice in the back of his head whispered at him to keep this situation in mind whenever he wanted something, that it would be useful. He quickly squashed it in favor of taking the phone and looking at the keypad.

To his current memories, he had just dialed the number a few days ago. Yet to his fingers, it seemed the pattern was a bit rusty. It unbalanced him. As he pressed the phone to his ear, he realized he wasn't sure what to say to whoever picked up on the other end. What if they had moved to a new location? What if a Marshal picked up? What if she was… Neal shook that last thought from his head.

He was about to give up after the fifth ring when someone picked up.

"Hello? Who's this?" Neal's heart leaped into his throat and he couldn't get any words out. The voice had changed over the years he couldn't remember and was much harsher, but it was definitely still his mother. "Look, if you're ssselling something, I don't wan' it." When she slurred her words, something in Neal just kind of…cracked. This woman hadn't been his mother since the day the US Marshals took them both into protective custody. Hearing her voice loosened any familial ties he might have still felt, and he could let her go.

"Sorry, wrong number." He hung up and handed the phone back to Peter. The couple had exchanged concerned glances since Neal had dialed and now they were even more concerned at the boy's sudden shut down.

"Sweetie? Is everything alright?" It took the kid a couple moments to even acknowledge that he had been spoken too, and then he only looked up and gave El a sad, half smile.

"I- um," Neal tried to clear his suddenly tight throat, but when that didn't work he just shrugged. "I just…remembered something and…and nothing's changed." He didn't say any more on the topic, simply handing Peter his phone back. The agent made a note to have Jones or Diana run the number Neal had called.

El nearly rolled her eyes at the ensuing awkward silence. Peter was never one for dealing with emotions, and Neal was never one for sharing… _anything_ personal. Which, as El thought about it, might change with Neal's new condition. She wouldn't be surprised if the amnesia and trauma knocked him around enough to tear down his walls a bit. El had to be prepared for anything at this point.

"I stopped by June's place to pick up some of your things, Neal. I picked up _one_ suit, and just tossed in some everyday clothing and pajamas as well. I also grabbed your toothbrush and things from the bathroom. They're already at the house." Neal looked grateful, but again, confused. That would probably be a regular expression on him until he got his memories back.

"Uh, thanks, Mrs. Burke. And not that…I'm not trying to be rude or anything but-" El couldn't help but giggle at Neal Caffrey stumbling over his words.

"Neal, Sweetie, I doubt I would be offended by anything you'd ask." Neal grinned up at her sheepishly.

"Well, I guess I was just wondering how you were back so early. It's only been about an hour and a half." Peter looked around the room and didn't find a clock. So how- "I've been looking at your watch, Peter." The young man said it in such a familiar condescending tone, Peter almost felt that they had their old Neal back.

"Alright, Kid. No need to be smart." El smiled fondly at both of them and answered Neal.

"I really only had to air out the guest bedroom a bit, and then I got your stuff from June's and dropped it back off at my house. I'll probably have to go grocery shopping soon, since _both_ of you are house bound." Neal stared incredulously at Peter. The agent sighed and shrugged.

"The Director thinks it best if I keep an eye on you. It'll be safer for you, and I'll still be able to work the case, just from home rather than the office." El chipped in excitedly.

"Maybe it'll help jog your memory some. Being with Peter and me for a while and at our house might help you remember those years you've lost." Neal gave Mrs. Burke a kind smile for her enthusiasm, but El could see that the young man was not entirely convinced. She was opening her mouth to say something else, when there was suddenly a loud commotion in the hallway.

When they heard two men yelling at each other, neither Peter nor El missed the way Neal tensed considerably. El moved to sit on the edge of Neal's hospital bed.

"You two stay here. I'll go check it out." Elizabeth nodded to her husband, but Neal remained frozen. The shouting got louder for the brief moment that the door was open, before it hissed shut again. El rubbed a hand up and down Neal's back to comfort him.

"It'll be fine. It's probably just two family members going at it after too long in the waiting room." Neal didn't even acknowledge that she spoke, just kept staring ahead at the door.

"ENOUGH!" Neal nearly jumped out of his skin as Peter shouted loud enough for the whole hospital to hear. He braced himself for more, for someone angry to come through the door. Maybe it was the two Marshals outside, arguing over who got to try and grab Neal first. Maybe they were going to drag him back and cuff him to the radiator again so he wouldn't run-off. Maybe-

The door opened once more and Peter came back in…rolling his eyes. Once the door was shut, he started laughing. El raised a brow and quirked her lips at her husband, while Neal's heart pounded waiting for his verdict.

"I haven't heard you shout like that in a long time." Peter huffed and nodded.

"Yeah well, the maternity ward is a hallway or two down. So this woman comes in, water broken, and _those_ two knuckle-heads are the husband…and the man the woman was having an affair with. They just met." El couldn't help a small giggle, more for Neal's sake to break the tension. The young man seemed confused and shocked, before he let out a bark of laughter.

His hand was a blur with how fast it came up to cover his mouth. Neal's blue eyes were wide as he looked at Peter, as if waiting for something. When the hand finally dropped, Neal cast his eyes downward.

"Sorry." El and Peter shared a looked, both concerned. They couldn't think anything but the shouting in the hallway was the cause of this sudden flip in Neal's personality. The young man had been confused, frustrated and a bit emotional since the whole ordeal started, but submissive and frightened was not the Neal they knew _at all._

"It's fine, Bud. Nothing wrong with laughing." Peter smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. Neal peeked up from under his eyelashes and a few curls that had fallen over his eyes. He seemed to come to the conclusion that he had done something unusual and the couple saw a faint blush tinge his cheeks.

"I, uh…I guess getting shot and knocked in the head kind of scrambles things up doesn't it? Sorry, again. I just…yeah." El had a strong urge to wrap the boy in her arms and hold him tight. Peter would not admit to having a similar urge and instead continued to smile at his partner.

"Hey, Sweetie, look at me." Neal reluctantly looked up and met the beautiful woman's eyes. He suddenly felt his age (well, the one his mind said he was) and couldn't pull together his adult, _mature_ persona. El smiled at him, and Neal couldn't help the thought of _Maybe if she was my mom, none of this would have happened_. However, Neal quickly banished the thought and focused.

"We're all new to this. We're going to have to learn with each other, alright? For now, you're just going to have to trust that we care about you and will help you all that we can. Please don't be afraid to talk to either of us." Neal didn't know what to say to that. According to his own mind, he didn't know these people. Sure, there was something about them that made him more comfortable around them, but he couldn't pull up a single memory. Yet, El and Peter were telling him that he's known them for years, and they are all friends. It was…confusing to say the least.

So, in the end, he just nodded. What else could he do? He would be going home with these people and staying with them until they found the person out trying to kill him.

"Good," El smiled. "Now, are you nauseous?" Neal's brow furrowed, but he shook his head 'No'. El immediately started digging around in her purse. "Good, because I may have just smuggled in some contraband for you." Elizabeth pulled out two sandwiches, one for Neal and one for Peter. The young man's cheeks lit up again when his stomach growled loudly at the sight. Peter chuckled.

"I take it you're hungry, Bud? When was the last time you ate, Neal?" Neal took the sandwich from El and took a big bite. Once his mouth was empty again, without looking up, Neal said,

"I can't remember." The young man shoved another bite of sandwich in his mouth, before glancing up at the other two. They didn't seem to know how to handle that and Neal couldn't hold in his reaction any longer. The corner of his mouth twitched up and then the laughter started.

Full on laughter, not the startled chuckle of before. Again, the sudden flip of personality was startling for the others (as well as Neal), but if at that moment Neal was happy, it was alright. Peter smiled and shook his head before digging into his own sandwich. El watched her two boys, settled in a chair next to Peter.

It was no surprise they were hungry. Neal had had an incredibly stressful morning, and knowing him, he probably didn't eat much before the sting so as he tended to get very anxious the day of. It was an unfortunate habit El had begged her husband to help his partner with. Peter had had an equally taxing day, seeing his partner get shot and being at the hospital and finding out Neal had amnesia. About twenty seconds later, they had both finished their food, leaving not a crumb.

Neal and Peter thanked El profusely, but she waved them off. She was happy to do it.

"Uh, Mrs. Burke?" El would have to get used to Neal's less than perfect speech patterns. In truth, it was kind of adorable. "You mentioned that you got my stuff from 'June's Place', but…" Neal trailed off, having no need to finish his sentence.

"Oh, right. Neal, you live with a lovely woman named June Ellington. She is your landlady, and she gave you the upstairs apartment in her…well, mansion." Neal's beautiful blue eyes nearly bugged out of his head and hit the floor.

"What? A mansion? Wait…" Neal suddenly looked suspicious. "What did I do for her?" It was Peter and El's turn to be confused.

"What do you mean?" Neal didn't look too happy.

"I mean, you say I'm a criminal, and somehow I land an apartment in a mansion. So what did I do for her that she would let me stay there?" Peter then swore he heard Neal mutter under his breath ' _I thought crime's not supposed to pay.'_ It almost made him fall over laughing. Mozzie would have had a heart attack.

"Oh, Sweetie, it was nothing like that. The FBI put you up in a disgusting no-tell-motel, and you ran into June at a thrift shop. She was dropping off some of her late husbands designer suits, and you started talking. June's husband was a confidence man for a good portion of his life, so June was no stranger to it. You hit it off, and she offered you a place. June truly is a wonderful lady who cares about you and giving second chances." Neal didn't know what to say to all that, but it made something warm in his chest. June sounded a lot like Ellen to him, enough that he couldn't hold in a smile.

"I can't wait to remember her."

* * *

 **Yeah! Some angst! Always so much fun to write. :)**

 **Please review. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 6

 **You probably noticed that I didn't update last week. The semester is picking up, so you can probably expect updates every other week now. It's crazy, but fun...most of the time.**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Sleep...Well, Sort Of**

Hospital dinner came and went, with the nurse reminding Neal to tell them if he felt nauseous. He gave them his best smile and promised to do so. After that, Neal picked at his dinner and ate what he could. It wasn't that he was nauseous; the hospital food just looked so unappetizing, especially after El brought in real food. Neal liked the Jello though.

El and Peter chatted away, trying to stave off any awkward silences. Once, Peter stepped out of the room to discuss something with Jones, but came back in after only a few moments. Neal didn't mind all of the movement and talking, but he was getting really tired. When another nurse came in to take away what remained of his dinner, she made a note of what he ate and gave him some bittersweet news.

"Mr. Caffrey, since you've eaten, feel free to get some sleep. You need your rest. However, I'm afraid we'll have to wake you every two hours and ask you some basic questions. It's procedure when dealing with a concussion." She gave him a sympathetic smile and he shrugged in return.

"Not much I can do about it. Thank you." The nurse took the mostly full dinner tray and left with a nod to each Peter and El. A thought struck Neal as soon as the nurse left.

"Um..how am I supposed to answer basic questions? If they ask my age, I'm screwed." Peter and El seemed just as concerned, and the agent was glad when he spotted Neal's doctor in the hallway.

Peter quickly ran to the door and called out to the man. Jones barely got out of the way of his animated boss.

"Excuse me, Doctor. Can I speak with you for a moment?" The man stopped and came over, hands in his pockets.

"Is everything alright with Mr. Caffrey? Did he eat?" Peter nodded his head.

"Yes, Neal's as fine as he can be, and he's eaten. It's just…well a nurse came in to tell Neal that he could sleep now, but he would have to be woken up every two hours and asked some basic questions. We're just concerned that with his amnesia he's not going to be able to answer the questions 'correctly', if you understand." The doctor narrowed his eyes.

"A nurse told you this?" Peter was confused, but nodded. The other man gestured towards the semi-open door.

"I would like to take a look at Mr. Caffrey for a moment, myself." Peter stood aside so the doctor could enter. Jones chuckled at Peter.

"What's so funny?" Jones shook his head.

"You're just a giant Papa Bear when it comes to Caffrey. Worried about every little thing. It's not bad, just…" Jones didn't finished, but Peter understood. He knew he could be excessive, but if it meant Neal was alright, it was fine with him if others found it amusing. "Hey, Peter, NYPD is going to take over door duty for tonight and then Diana will meet you here in the morning to escort you all to your house." Peter nodded in thanks and said goodnight to his junior agent.

Burke came in near the end of the doctor's examination.

"Well, Mr. Caffrey, things look pretty good. You say your symptoms haven't worsened. Have either of you two noticed anything," the doctor directed at El and Peter. Both shook their heads.

"No, nothing." The doctor nodded to himself.

"Good. I can assure you then, that there is no need for you to be woken up every two hours. It is a fairly recent change, but still, the staff was informed that it is no longer procedure to disturb the rest of a concussed patient every two hours if there has been no worsening of symptoms. I'll make sure they are _re-informed_ and that you won't be disturbed." Neal's small smile was very genuine upon hearing the news, and he thanked the doctor before the man left.

The young man sank further into the hospital mattress and pillow.

"That makes me feel loads better. I didn't want to have to worry about nurses thinking I've lost even more of my sense because I can't tell them who the current President is at two in the morning." The couple smiled as the kid yawned into his fist and closed his eyes. "I think I'll just…pass out now." Neal's blue eyes popped back open. "If that's okay, I mean-" El laughed softly.

"Don't worry about us, Neal. We can keep ourselves entertained. You go ahead and sleep." Just as soon as she finished speaking, Neal was out like a light. In his sleep, Peter could honestly say that Neal looked his age, his _actual_ age of twenty-six. There were no masks or expressions or concerns or doubts contorting the young man's face into anything other than a boy in his twenties.

"Peter, you have to catch the guy that did this." The agent furrowed his brow at the strange tone in his wife's voice. She was staring intently at Neal and running a hand through his brown curls. The older man could see the concern in El's eyes and knew his own mirrored it.

"We will, El. I promise. Jones and Diana have been digging through everything and once Neal gets his memories back, he'll be able to do a sketch of the guy. Things will work out. He'll be alright." El pursed her lips and didn't comment. She knew her husband and his team would do everything they could to catch the man who shot Neal. It was just a scary thought, knowing the killer was still out there, waiting to get to Neal.

El shook her head, trying to rid herself of said thought. She couldn't think like that if she was going to help Neal. The emotional instability they had witnessed that day would not be unusual in the days to come, that she was certain of. For as long as she and known Neal, she had never seen him without some sort of mask on. Now, all of those masks were forcefully ripped away and Neal was just a 'sixteen year old' boy in a strange place surrounded by strange people. It was going to be hard, but El wouldn't let Neal go through it alone.

El looked over at her husband. Neither of them would.

* * *

Neal's sleep was…well, he wouldn't go straight to peaceful. Snippets of words and conversations floated through his unconscious mind. He woke multiple times in the night, but he could never remember what had been said in his 'dreams'. They didn't seem to be nightmares, which was a blessing. He never felt scared or frightened when he woke up. Instead, Neal felt frustrated, like the answer to everything was right there just out of his reach.

Neal was surprised to find that Peter and El were both still in the room each time he woke up. Peter had pulled another chair over to prop his feet up, while El laid half on his hospital bed, using her arms as pillows.

It made him feel protected…safe, something he hadn't felt in a long time. The first time he woke up, one of El's hands was next to his own. Part of him wanted to reach out and grab it, but the other half screamed loudly at him not to. However, the next time he woke up, his hand was securely ensconced in El's. It made him smile, before he fell back asleep.

The fifth time Neal woke, sunlight was streaming in and Peter and El were talking quietly. Neal blinked the sleep from his eyes and sat up. The young man was surprised again to find his hand still in El's. When Neal moved to pull away, the woman's grip on him strengthened. El didn't say anything, but she smiled at him.

"Hey, Neal. Did you get a good rest?" The young man shrugged.

"More or less." Neal could tell that the agent wanted to ask, but the man didn't press, for which Neal was grateful. "I can't imagine those chairs were comfortable, though. You guys didn't have to stay." He meant that they could have gone to their home, with their nice bed rather than in a hospital with some guy who can't remember two days ago let alone them. That wasn't how Peter took it though. The agent sighed heavily.

"Neal, we can't leave you alone in a hospital, even though you have the tracking anklet on." At the reminder of the anklet, Neal's cheeks colored. The young man looked down and plucked at the hospital sheet, missing the glare El shot Peter's way.

"What Peter _means_ is that we weren't going to leave you here by yourself. We both would have worried and not gotten a wink of sleep." She shook their joined hands and then stood. "Well, I'm going to hunt down something resembling caffeine." El left the room, leaving her two men alone. There were a couple of moments of awkward silence, before Peter tried to break the ice.

"Sooooo….did you remember anything? Like dreams?" Neal shook his head.

"No, I didn't. Sorry." Peter looked disappointed, but not overly upset.

"It's not your fault, Bud. Besides, I guess I can't expect it to all come back to you overnight." Before Agent Burke could say anything else, the doctor came into the room. The man smiled at seeing Neal awake and talking.

"Hello, Mr. Caffrey. Did you sleep well?" Again, Neal shrugged.

"It was alright. I woke up a few times, from dreams I think, but I can't really remember." The doctor nodded and said that wasn't unusual. The man set his clipboard down and took out his pen light. As he looked in Neal's eyes and checked the stitches from yesterday, he asked the young man some routine questions.

"How is your pain right now? Scale of one to ten." Neal was tense as the doctor's fingers prodded, but he held still.

"Um…four?" Neal had never felt he could answer the pain scale questions right. How do you put a number on what you're feeling? The doctor continued, until he gave a satisfied huff and finally stepped back. Neal was able to relax slightly, with more breathing room.

"Alright, well, everything looks to be in order. Granted, it has only been one night. I will prescribe you something for any pain, and some antibiotics to prevent any infections. Don't be surprised if you experience headaches, maybe some dizziness. Though we don't know much about amnesia, I can tell you from what you've gone through, you will probably experience some emotional distress, panic attacks or other such symptoms. Definitely come back if _anything_ gets worse. There is the chance of infection, so any really high fevers are warning signs. Keep an eye out for inflammation, swelling. If you start to get confused or your headaches won't go away or you have severe dizziness or nausea, come back immediately. You will also have to come back in a couple of weeks to get the stitches removed, okay?" Neal's head spun with all of the information thrown at him, though he had a feeling that it was only an extremely basic overview.

The young man and Peter nodded, and the doctor smiled.

"Good. I'll have the nurse bring you the discharge paperwork. Take it easy." Peter stared at the door for a couple of seconds, before looking away and patting his legs.

"Well, we can at least get you into some pants before they get here. We should leave the IV in, so you won't be able to put a shirt on yet." Neal nodded dumbly (and slowly, otherwise it would hurt) as Peter bent down and slid out a black duffel bag from underneath his chair. "El also thought to bring you a change of clothes, since your other clothes were taken as evidence." At that Neal made a face and looked down at himself. Peter paused, jeans dangling from his hands.

"What's with the weird face, Bud?" Neal pushed the blankets off of his legs to sit up on the edge of the bed.

"I may have just realized that they undressed and redressed me while I was unconscious. That kind of weirds me out." Peter nodded and chuckled.

"Yeah. I get that. I've had the same thing happen to me a couple of times, though when I woke up, El was sitting right next to me. As soon as she saw my eyes open, she would start yelling at me. You wouldn't think we were a happily married couple if you heard some of the things she said." Just then the door opened.

"If he heard some of the things who said?" Neal bit his lip to hide a smile at Peter's reaction. The agent's eyes got really wide, and he nearly stumbled. El narrowed her eyes at her husband's stuttered reply.

"Oh, nothing, Dear. Nothing, nothing." Then El noticed Peter had pulled out the duffle bag, and she smiled.

"Oh! Has the doctor released you, Sweetie?" Neal nodded.

"Yeah, we just have to wait for the discharge papers to come." El set down the coffee she had grabbed for Peter and moved back towards the door.

"Alright, well I'll go talk to Diana while Peter helps you get dressed." Before either of the men could say anything, she was out the door. The partners looked at each other awkwardly, before Peter let out a put upon sigh.

"Well, it's nothing I haven't done before." Neal's cheeks were tingeing pink, but he kept the embarrassment out of his voice (he still believed himself a sixteen year old, having a stranger help him dress).

"You've helped someone get dressed before? Do you have a kid?" Peter laughed, picturing Neal as their child.

"In a way, I guess you could say that. _You_ have needed my assistance on a number of occasions, not with dressing mind you. However, on one case you went into a psychiatric hospital, without my knowledge, to gain information. The bad guys caught you, bound you to an examination table and drugged you up so much you were singing at the top of your lungs. I half dragged you out of there and brought you home. I had to help you get changed into something more comfortable, before you crashed on my couch." Neal took all of this information in stride, trying to conjure up such memories.

He tried not to let it hurt too much when he couldn't.

* * *

 **I actually Googled the information for this chapter. New medical procedure is if the patient isn't having issues after a concussion they are allowed to sleep normally. (That's the gist of it. Still talk to a doctor.) The questions Neal and Peter ask are actually one's I asked myself. I was wondering how I was going to write it, and then in came Google. :)**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 7

 **This happens when I have a week with nothing but tests. I take my frustrations out in writing! Good for you, not necessarily fun circumstances for me. :)**

 **Please READ THE WARNINGS this week and enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: **One instance of swearing in this chapter! Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **"Hospitality"**

El came back in after what she deemed 'sufficient time' had passed and was pleased to find Neal in pants and her husband looking relatively unruffled. She set her coffee down by he chair and sat on the edge of the hospital bed with Neal.

"You know, Sweetie, there is also a change of clothes in there for you." Peter took the not-so-subtle hint and grabbed the bag and left the room. El looked at Neal, and her heart clenched. The poor boy looked wiped out just from trying to get clothes on, with help. She ran her fingers gently through his hair, careful of the stitches at the back.

"When we get you home, you can settle right on the couch and not move for the rest of the day. Just sleep. I'll try and keep Satchmo from jumping on you as best as I can." Neal flashed her a tired smile.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry about being such a bother-" He was interrupted by El's sigh.

"Sweetie, you aren't a bother; I swear. We've been friends for a good while now, and I would be doing the same thing whether you remembered me or not." That seemed to be the end of that discussion, and El got Neal engaged in talk about his origami. A few minutes later, Peter returned, and they dragged him into the conversation too.

After another twenty minutes had passed, they were all getting impatient. Neal wasn't saying anything, but he had started plucking the hospital blanket a bit more viciously. At one point Peter leaned back in his chair and sighed loudly.

"Where in the hell is that-" He was interrupted by the door opening.

"Nurse!" The young woman was taken aback at the loud greeting and gave them a confused smile.

"Yes? I'm here to unhook Mr. Caffrey from everything. This is the discharge paperwork, along with all of the instructions and prescriptions for Mr. Caffrey." As she spoke, she handed the papers to Peter and walked over to the side of Neal's bed with the machines. One by one she turned them off and pulled whatever she needed to off of Neal's body. Neal didn't look when she pulled out the IV, but he did wince.

The nurse applied a Band-Aid to the IV site and was all finished up. As she passed by, Peter handed her the first few sheets that consisted of the discharge papers and kept the rest. The young woman smiled at Neal.

"Alright, Mr. Caffrey, you are officially free to go. Do you have a shirt to change in to? I'm going to have to wheel you out, when you are ready. Hospital policy." Neal looked to Peter, and the agent passed him a shirt. The young con man pulled the knot at the back of the hospital gown, but before it fell, Neal grabbed it. For what seemed like the fifth time, his cheeks started to heat up.

"Uh…do you think you could…" he trailed off, and it took them a couple moments to figure out what he was asking. All three were surprised at the young man's self-consciousness. For all the time Peter and El knew Neal, he had never been uncomfortable showing off his body. He used his good looks all the time to charm marks and suspects. Heck, Peter had just helped him get into his pants! The nurse was just surprised that such a good looking man didn't want anyone seeing his body. However, if it made the patient uncomfortable she wasn't going to stare. In the end, they all turned away without complaint, despite the confusion.

Neal sighed in relief and quickly changed into the soft green t-shirt El had packed for him.

"Okay. I'm ready." Peter and El stood, and the nurse grabbed a wheelchair. Neal didn't seem too thrilled with the wheelchair, but he was happy enough to be leaving that he didn't argue. Peter grabbed the door for them and was the last to file out, duffle bag in hand. They nodded to the uniform that had been guarding the door and met Diana down the hall in the waiting room. She gave them a strained smile as she stood.

"Hey, Boss, El. Neal, how are you doing?" Neal could tell she wasn't happy about something and could only hope it wasn't him.

"Okay. Tired, bit of a headache. Still can't remember anything." Diana nodded, unsurprised.

"Well, at least you're getting out of here. Peter, could we talk for a second." The senior agent furrowed his brows but nodded. Peter could see that the request for private audience set Neal and El on edge. El probably thought someone had gotten hurt, and Neal probably thought he was in trouble. Either way, Diana didn't seem happy.

He let his junior agent pull him off around the corner and waited for her to enlighten him on the situation. She put her hands on her hips and sighed an angry sigh.

"Peter, the Marshals are involved now." The other agent's eyebrows flew up.

"What?! Why?" Peter couldn't imagine it was a cordial invitation that brought the Marshals, from the way Diana was acting.

"They are claiming that the person we're after is part of an ongoing investigation for them. They say that he's an escaped convict, and they want to be the one's to bring him in. Peter, they've also offered their services for Neal." Now Peter was pissed.

"What services? Neal's got his anklet on. He's staying with me." Diana scowled.

"The two agents seemed sympathetic that one of our own had been seriously hurt, until they found out that Neal was a criminal consultant. I think they've got it into their thick heads that Neal's faking his amnesia and is protecting the shooter. Criminals sticking together, kind of thing. They've offered to help you keep an eye on him and try and get him talking."

"Like Hell," Peter growled. Diana smirked at Peter's reaction; she knew he would feel the same as she and Jones had when the Marshals stated their intent.

"Jones and I can keep them busy and away from Neal for as long as we can. Right now they think I'm following an anonymous tip. So, let's get you all back to your house, and then I'll head back." Peter nodded, and both agents covered any emotions from their faces so as not to worry El and Neal.

The two just mentioned looked at them with concern when the agents returned, but Peter and Diana smiled reassuringly.

"Alright, Bud. Let's go." Neal snorted at the nickname and sat back as the nurse started pushing the wheelchair again. His hand went up to his right temple and tried to rub away the growing headache.

"Headaches are to be expected, Mr. Caffrey. They should go away with time and plenty of rest." Neal barely nodded to acknowledge that he had heard the nurse. He winced when they finally reached the hospital doors, and his eyes met with bright sunlight. Suddenly, Neal felt something being pushed into his hands.

"Here, Neal. Put these on." The young man opened his eyes a crack to notice Peter had given him a pair of sunglasses. Neal quickly, but gently, slid them onto his face and sighed in relief.

"Thanks a lot, Peter." The agent smiled and squeezed Neal's shoulder. As soon as they were outside, Neal was grateful for the fresh air despite the sun. Though he had technically only been inside for about a day, being out made him feel free, relatively speaking.

The young man was startled when El bent down to peck him on the cheek.

"I'll see you guys at home." She repeated the gesture with Peter and walked through the parking lot to her car. Diana smirked at the blush creeping up Neal's face and pulled her keys out.

"I'll bring the car around." Neal turned as another wheelchair moved past them. A woman holding a baby, smiled up at her husband pushing her through the exit doors. The man looked happy but frazzled and practically tripped over his own feet to get the car. Neal snorted softly at the sight but didn't comment.

Just then, Diana pulled up and parked the car. The nurse took that as her signal to leave and wished Neal a speedy recovery before going back inside the hospital. Peter patted Neal on the shoulder.

"Okay, Bud. C'mon." The young man stood on shaky legs and let Peter wrap an arm around his torso to support him. Diana came around the side to open the car door for him, and together the two agents got him into the vehicle. They both looked rather pleased with themselves. Neal on the other hand was busy fighting a blush.

He hurt his head, not his legs! He should be able to walk just fine. Instead of saying anything, Neal took a deep breath and tried to let it go. When Peter and Diana got into the car, both of them peeked in the rearview mirror and bit their lips to stop from laughing. Neal was full on pouting.

The drive to the Burkes' home was uneventful, which was nice. The traffic was typical and the sun was as bright as ever. Peter could resist looking back at Neal every so often and smiled at the look of wonder on his face. It was like Neal had never seen New York City before and was awestruck.

One small miracle almost made Diana and Peter start singing church music: there was an open spot right in front of the house. They stopped and Peter jumped out of the car and opened Neal's door for him before the young man could say 'Please'. Neal rolled his eyes behind the sunglasses but couldn't help smiling at the agent. Though he didn't 'know' the man at that moment, he could see how much the agent cared.

Diana got out of the car too, which surprised Peter.

"Diana?" The younger agent had that pinched anger look on her face again and she pointed at the nondescript car a few spaces up.

"Boss, I think I'll just come inside. Make sure Neal gets settled and all, before I head back to the office." Neal could easily read the tension in the two FBI agents and was on high alert. His bright blue eyes darted every which way as they crossed the sidewalk and climbed the stairs to the front door.

Peter had seen El's car, so he knew she was there, but he would have thought El would have been watching out the window for them. That's just the way his wife was. He cautiously opened the front door: unlocked.

Satchmo came running up to them, excited but whining all at the same time. Peter felt Neal tense beside him and followed his line of sight.

Two men were sitting on _his_ couch in _his_ living room…and were being served water by _HIS_ wife! Said men turned and smiled 'pleasantly' at Peter, flicking their eyes over Neal like he was a stray the agent had brought home. Before one of them could open their mouths, El walked into the room, an equally pinched angry look on her face to Diana's.

"Peter! Neal! I'm so glad you're home. Marshals Roberts and Smith _invited_ themselves over." Peter had the strong urge to punch the two men, grab his wife and run and hold Neal's hand to stop _him_ from running, simultaneously. Then the Marshals stood, one holding out a hand.

"Marshal Roberts. Agent Burke, it's a pleasure to meet you. Sorry it had to be when you are so," his cold eyes flicked to Neal again, a small sneer playing on his lips, "indisposed." Peter looked like he would rather spit in the man's hand than shake it, which made Neal's heart rate calm just a little bit. However, the Marshal forced his pleasantries, so Peter took the opportunity to give the man a nice, _firm_ handshake.

"Can't say the same, Marshal. Now, want to tell me what you are doing in my _home?_ " The Marshals shrugged casually.

"We heard you were going to be working the case from home, and thought we'd stop by while Agent Berrigan was…following an anonymous tip." The second Marshal, Smith by default, had spent the time scowling at Neal and narrowing his eyes at Diana. Neal got a creepy feeling off of the man, and then the Marshal made it worse by opening his mouth.

"My partner and I came to offer our assistance when we heard that you'd been forced to split your attentions between working the case and guarding your little pet." Neal's fear was pushed aside for a moment by his anger. His knuckles ached to meet the other man's face, and with the way Diana twitched behind him, it seemed she felt the same way. El opened her mouth to give them both a piece of her mind, but Peter beat them all to the punch, the metaphorical punch unfortunately.

He stepped closer to the closer man until their noses were almost brushing. They had similar height and build, but Peter was older and angrier.

"You listen to me, Marshal Roberts. You have come into my home uninvited, imposed on my wife, insulted my ability to do my job and insulted my grievously injured _partner_. Now, I could tell you where to put your offer of assistance, but that would be unprofessional. So, instead, I will offer you the door. I don't want to see your faces here again." The Marshals scowled but nodded. The trio in front of the door moved aside, Satchmo attached at Neal's hip, as the Marshals moved to leave.

"Thanks for your hospitality, Mrs. Burke," Marshal Roberts threw over his shoulder. Just before he left, Marshal Smith made sure to knock into Neal's shoulder enough to unbalance him into Diana. The man snorted at him, before he was finally gone. When they were finally gone, El let her growl loose.

"They are such _assholes._ "

* * *

 **I don't usually use swearing in my writing, but when I do...it is really not that bad. :/ Fall break coming up, hope to get some writing done then. See you in 2 weeks!**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 8

 **What is this?! A new chapter?! Haven't seen one of those in a while. ;)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Pain and Pills and Pain**

Diana had left soon after the Marshals. Peter wouldn't let her drive until she had calmed down sufficiently and wasn't going to cause an accident. She stayed to get Neal settled on the couch and then finally headed back to the office. Once she was gone, Peter made a quick call to Hughes, informing him of what had happened. Needless to say, the Director was not happy.

Meanwhile, El had _happily_ made Neal some tea. She fussed over him, making sure that he was comfortable. The young man had taken the sunglasses off, but it was still a bit bright in the room. He didn't say anything however, not wanting to be more difficult. His shoulder didn't really hurt from Marshal Smith's childish behavior, but the jostling had aggravated his headache. El could see the pain pinching Neal's face and checked the prescription list Peter had brought home.

"Well, Sweetie this list has a stronger painkiller on it than the Ibuprofen I've got." She looked over to see Peter hanging up on his call with Hughes. "Peter, could you go and get Neal's prescriptions? His head is killing him." Her husband nodded and came to kneel in front of his young partner.

"Hey, Bud. Scale of one to ten." Neal bit his cheek as the pain throbbed with each move of his head.

"F-four." El rolled her eyes, and Peter snorted.

"Yeah, that's an eight in Caffrey speak. I'll be back as quick as I can." He stood, patted Neal's shoulder as he passed and reminded them of the unmarked officers outside before he left. Satchmo was quick to take Peter's place. El smiled at the dog and stood herself.

"I'll make you an ice pack that you can use until he gets back. I'm sure Satchmo will help too." Neal looked down at the dog, and despite the pain, smiled. He reached a hand out, and the golden lab eagerly pressed into it, scooting closer. Neal set the tea down on the little table in front of him and laid down on his side, hoping to relieve some of the pain. He didn't stop petting Satchmo, and the dog eventually laid his head on the couch next to Neal's.

Not only was the dog helping with his headache but his anxiety as well. Seeing the Marshals made him nearly have a panic attack. To Neal, it had only been about thirty-six to forty-eight hours since he had…escaped. Not to mention that these Marshals seemed just as pleasant and just as 'taken' with Neal as the last pair. Every second, Neal was just waiting for Peter to hand him over. When he didn't, the young man nearly collapsed in relief. Neal closed his eyes and just tried to relax.

El came back with the ice pack and wanted to snap a picture of what was in front of her: A Boy and His Dog. It was truly adorable. However, she could still see the tightness in the lines of Neal's face and knew he was fighting off severe pain. She pulled curtains closed as she passed by windows in an effort to darken the area a bit.

Elizabeth made her way over to Neal and brushed his chocolate curls out of the way before laying the ice pack on his forehead. The young man sighed in relief, and tension drained from his muscles.

"Thank you," he whispered. El smiled and patted his arm.

"Get some rest, Sweetie. Peter will be home soon, and once you take your medication, we'll move you upstairs to the guest room to sleep." In lieu of nodding, Neal offered up a small smile. Satchmo whined then, begging for more attention. Neal's hand reached out blindly, seeking the dog's head. Satchmo pushed himself closer until Neal's fingers found his fur. El stood and went upstairs to get changed into something more comfortable. She had taken the day off to take care of Neal, but would be back in tomorrow.

Neal drifted in and out, allowing the ice pack to do its work, but he never truly feel asleep. He couldn't take his mind off of the Marshals that had been there. They were exactly like- exactly like the other ones back home. The ones he had _run away from!_ Now he was right back in their sights. They must train them to be absolute jerks, who gladly serve their own justice.

A thought hit Neal so hard he nearly popped up off of the couch despite his headache. The whole amnesia situation could actually be a good thing. Neal thinks it was only a couple days since he escaped the Marshals, but in actuality, it's been about a decade! They wouldn't connect him to a scrawny kid from Wyoming.

High pitched whining dragged Neal out of his head for a moment, long enough to lock eyes with Satchmo. The young man huffed out a breath and scratched the dog's head again. The repetitive motion started to get to him, until Neal finally fell into a light doze.

* * *

Peter managed to hit every red light and get stuck in every patch of traffic to exist, before he finally made it to the pharmacy. After that, things were considerably easier. It took him half that time to get back home, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he did. He could only imagine how his partner was feeling.

It was quiet and shadowed when he opened the front door. Luckily he spotted El before he called out for her. She was sitting in her favorite arm chair with a book and put a finger to her lips. Looking at the couch, Peter understood.

Neal was curled in the fetal position, with one hand buried in Satchmo's fur and the other arm slung over his head to keep an ice pack in place. It looked rather humorous and out of place on Neal Caffrey's body, but Peter smiled.

The FBI agent came in quietly and laid the bags of medication on the coffee table. The only bottle he pulled out was the 'as needed' pain medication, knowing Neal would want it as soon as he woke. Peter settled into the arm chair next to his wife and let out a sigh. Satchmo mimicked him, and his hot breath moved a few of Neal's curls. El and Peter waited for Neal to open his eyes, but as the minutes passed with no change, they simply let him be. The doctor said he would need rest, so if Neal was asleep, they weren't going to wake him.

Peter himself had almost fallen into unconsciousness, when he and El heard something. Their eyes darted to the young man on the couch, and they were instantly concerned. Neal had curled up even tighter, pulling his head closer to his chest. Satchmo whined when Neal did, and the couple was on their feet and across the room in a second.

The young man appeared to be having a nightmare. El kneeled by Neal's side, next to Satchmo, and Peter took his position by the arm of the couch. They shared a look before silently deciding to wake Neal up. El spoke first.

"Neal, Sweetie? Wake up. It's just a dream." Peter couldn't help but wonder if Neal was remembering what had happened and who he saw at the undercover op the day before. He could only hope. He wouldn't know, however, until his partner woke up.

"Neal, Bud, c'mon. Wake up." Peter reached out a hand and gently touched Neal's shoulder. The young man curled up further and shied away from the touch, but Peter would not be deterred. "Neal. Neal, you have to wake up." The FBI agent tried his luck and gently shook Neal. It finally seemed to do the trick.

"Ah!" The poor young man shot up, nearly ramming his head into Peter's. His eyes were wide and wild, and he whipped his head around, trying to get his bearings. El waved her hands a bit to get his attention.

"Neal, Neal, it's okay. You're at our house, remember?" When their eyes met, and Neal had stopped moving so much, El rested her hands on his shoulders. "You were having a bad dream, and we woke you up. How are you feeling?" Neal didn't answer right away. He spent a couple of moments getting his breathing back under control, before he finally grimaced.

"My…my head _really_ hurts." It was spoken softly, and Neal looked away quickly, as if admitting such a thing would get him in trouble.

"Well, I've got your medicine, so you can take some pills for the pain." Neal startled upon hearing Peter right behind him and winced when he instinctively looked behind himself. El pressed his shoulders to get him to lay back down.

"Lay back, Neal. I'll get you some water and a fresh ice pack, and Peter will get your medication." Peter nodded at his wife and walked the few feet to the kitchen table. He had been surprised at the decidedly juvenile way Neal was responding. Peter's mind jumped to terrible conclusions: Neal had forgotten more of his life, Neal thought he was a young boy, Neal didn't remember anything.

The FBI agent shook his head and took the required pills back to the couch. El reached the couch moments later, and they both coaxed Neal into a semi upright position so he could take his pills. The young man took them without protest and finished the glass of water before he laid back down. Neal sighed when he felt the fresh ice pack settled over his forehead.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I'm…I'm sorry that I'm bugging you so much." It was Peter's turn to sigh.

"You aren't bugging us, Neal. We want to help you get better. Now those pills are take as needed for pain. I'll keep the bottle, but I want you to _tell me_ when you need them. Don't pretend you're not in pain, just because you think you'll be bothering me." El smiled at Neal, as he nodded and pet Satchmo's head.

"If you don't tell Peter when your head hurts, I'll sick Satchmo on you." Neal looked really confused, but then Satchmo barked once as if he agreed with Elizabeth. The young man held his hands up in surrender.

"Alright, alright. I'll tell you." El nodded with finality and stood.

"Good. Now, you rest and I'll make us a late breakfast. Are eggs and bacon alright?" Neal stopped himself from nodding just in time.

"That sounds great, Mrs. Burke." El didn't bother correcting him, knowing Neal was in a younger (and more easily frightened) mindset. As she left for the kitchen, Peter moved to the arm chair closest to the couch.

"Bud, do you want to talk about your dream? It might help." Neal bit his lip, something Peter never saw the 'Older Neal' do, and didn't meet Peter's eyes. Instead of answering, Neal threw out a question of his own.

"Are…are the Marshals going to come back?" Peter raised his eyebrows. This was the third time Neal seemed concerned about US Marshals. Maybe it was some subconscious part of Neal that feared being put in jail again, but Peter couldn't help but think it was something else.

"Well, not if I can help it, Bud. They are part of the investigation, but they shouldn't be coming around here again." Neal visibly relaxed after Peter said that, and the little voice in the back of Peter's head was shouting alarms again. The FBI agent replayed everything that he had noticed when the Marshals had been in his house.

They were rude, yes. Complete assholes, double yes. One of them had slammed his shoulder into Neal, and Neal….Neal had flinched. His partner had flinched _before_ he had been hit…like he had been expecting it. Peter's eyes widened as he looked at his friend. Maybe it was a bit of a leap, but…but-

"Peter, Neal, food's ready. Peter get Neal some orange juice." Peter had to fight back the urge to growl. He had almost had it all straightened in his head, but then came…bacon. El brought out two plates of food and placed them on the coffee table. She and Peter both went back into the kitchen to get the rest, and they all sat around the tiny table in the living room. Neal felt a little odd eating on the couch, but since every time he moved his head pounded, he would deal with it.

The next challenge was making sure Satchmo didn't snatch anything. The dog's eyes kept flicking between Neal and the food that was a foot from his face. Neal held his plate a little closer, his eyes daring the golden lab to try and take it. Satchmo started to creep closer to take that challenge.

"Satch, no." The dog whined as El berated him. "No. Go lay down." With a very put upon sigh, Satchmo lumbered away and laid down in the kitchen where he could still watch them eat. Neal felt a bit guilty looking at the sad dog. El snorted.

"Told you I don't fall for puppy eyes." Peter smiled at his wife and shoveled more food into his mouth, all the while keeping an eye on his partner. The pained lines on Neal's face seemed to release a bit with the delicious food, and as his plate emptied, Neal's shoulders drooped. The pain medicine must have finally started to kick in. Peter had to almost catch Neal's plate as the young man began to fall asleep sitting up.

Peter and El helped settle Neal back down on the couch and cleared the coffee table. Satchmo was allowed to return to the living room and took his spot next to Neal's head. The older couple settled in to watch over their friend, El calm and content, Peter with a growing cloud of dread in his mind.

* * *

 **So, I actually did almost no writing over break, but as soon as I got back to school with a ton of work to do, the words just start flowing. Apparently stress is my motivator to write.**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 9

 **I just must let this be known: I got a 101 on an Organic Chemistry Test! That made my week. I hope this new chapter makes yours. :)**

 **PS The amnesia example Peter thinks about is actually from MY Psych 101 class from last year. I didn't come up with it. It felt applicable.**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Emotional Distress on All Sides**

Neal was starting to get bored. This meant panic was starting to creep up on him. He had learned over the years that when he got bored, he got stupid and when he got stupid….bad things happened. Needless to say, it never ended well for him.

After eating, Neal had fallen asleep for another couple of hours. The pain medication worked wonders, but it really knocked him out. Luckily, he was deep enough in unconsciousness that he didn't suffer from any more nightmares. But now, he had a problem. Peter had a game on the TV going, volume low, and El was reading quietly next to him. Satchmo was snoring quietly on the floor by the couch, and Neal was laying there trying not to start twitching.

The Peter saw his eyes open.

"Hey Bud, did you sleep well? Does your head feel better?" Neal pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Yeah. The medication really helped." Neal wrung his hands in his lap in a poor attempt to keep them from doing things they shouldn't. He should probably ask Peter if they have more paper for him to fold. Peter saw his hands and knew the problem immediately.

"Ah. Just a second." Peter got up and took something out of a drawer. He came back towards the couch and dropped a pad of paper and a pencil into Neal's lap. At Neal's stunned look, Peter back tracked from his previous thought. "I mean, I figured you started art at a young age. I though…I mean it seemed like you liked it. I thought you could draw or something." Neal slowly picked up the pencil and a tentative grin brightened his face.

"Really? You mean, it's okay for me to…" El looked up at that point, and she and Peter held matching shocked and confused expressions.

"Of course it's okay for you to draw. Why would that not be okay?" Neal shrugged and looked away.

"I don't know. I'm a forger. You never know what kind of trouble I could get up to with paper and pencil." They was a distinct edge of bitterness to Neal's words that Peter and El didn't like. Peter crouched down so he was eye level with Neal.

"Bud, you're allowed to draw. Now, I have no doubt that a Neal Caffrey that remembers everything could pull off a forgery or heist with nothing but paper and pencil, but that doesn't mean he would. I trust you, Kid. It's alright." Neal felt very uncomfortable with the amount of trust and thick emotion being poured into the air next to him, and only nodded.

"Thanks," he muttered. Peter nodded after a moment and walked back to his arm chair. Neal stared down at the pad in his lap for a couple of minutes, before finally picking up the pencil. As soon as the graphite tip touched the paper, Neal began to draw feverishly. Little did he know that Peter had another motive behind giving him something to draw with besides keeping him from getting bored.

Peter thought that maybe Neal would draw things that maybe he didn't consciously remember. He recalled learning something like that in a psych class he had taken back in college. Supposedly, a woman who had amnesia couldn't give police any of her personal information, but when asked to call home, she dialed the number with ease. Every few moments, Peter would glance over at his young partner and try to get a glimpse at what he was drawing. At one point he was doing it so often, El almost reached over and whacked him with her book.

Eventually, Peter took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the game going on, letting Neal draw without someone breathing down his neck. An hour or two passed that way, and still Neal didn't stop drawing. He had already gone through three sheets of paper, and Peter was amazed that he hadn't broken the pencil with the ferocity he was drawing with. Neal was only startled out of his drawing haze when El intentionally shut her book harder than usual. The young man blinked his eyes as if he had just woken up and looked around for a moment, before looking back down on his drawings.

The first was a shattered glass bottle. It was gin, the type of alcohol his mother favored. It was shattered because she had thrown it at his head when he had asked her to stop drinking. He didn't ask again.

The second was of the back kitchen door, a tear in the screen mesh. It had a squeaky hinge he had oiled the day he was planning on running away, so he wouldn't wake up the Marshals.

The last was also the darkest. Two shadowed men sat hunched over a kitchen table, cups of coffee warming their hands. The shadows they emanated seeped out of their bodies and crept across the floor towards the viewer. One of the men was glaring straight out of the page, just daring the person at the other end to make a sound. Neal had _hated_ them.

The young man heard Peter stand and come over behind him just in time for him to flip back to the second page. Peter wouldn't be able to read anything in to an old door. Neal didn't turn his head to see Peter's face as he looked over the drawing. Then the agent huffed by his ear.

"Man, you really are talented, Kid." Before Neal could respond, Peter's cell started ringing. They all knew it had to be something important. The agent stepped out onto the back patio and accepted the call.

"Burke." Jones's voice came through loud and clear.

 _"Hey, Peter. I ran that number that Neal called from your phone."_ It wasn't a break in the case as Peter was hoping for, but it was hopefully something.

"Yeah? And?"

 _"Well the number isn't in any phone book or public record. If I searched it through the database it would direct me to a pizza joint in New Jersey."_ Peter crossed his arms, still cradling the phone to his ear.

"I'm sensing a 'but'." He heard the regular bustling of the office over the phone and couldn't help but wish he were there himself.

 _"And you would be right. BUT, when I called the number, an angry drunk woman picked up. Kept telling me to stop calling, she didn't want to buy anything."_ Now Peter was even more confused. _"There was something really weird about the call though. I distinctly heard the click and low hum of a recorder."_ Peter was completely taken aback.

"Someone was recording the call?" They didn't come across that too often at the FBI. If anything, they were the ones recording calls during an operation. His mind rolled over the information, trying to squeeze out an explanation.

 _"Peter, as far as I could find, we have no cases going on in the vicinity of that phone number. That and with how hard it was to actually FIND it-"_ Everything clicked into place that second.

"Witness Protection." Peter rubbed a hand down his face. Yet that didn't all explain Neal's very physical reaction when Peter simply said the word Marshal, unless- "I gotta go. Keep me updated." Peter hung up without waiting for a reply. He took another deep breath before heading back inside.

Neal was on the couch petting Satchmo, while El was in the kitchen scrounging around for some lunch. Peter caught her eye and gestured for her to stay in the kitchen. Her brow furrowed, but she nodded. Peter had no doubt that his wife would have her ears hooked on the conversation he was, _hopefully_ , going to have with Neal.

The young man looked up at him and gave him a small smile as he approached.

"Were they able to tell you anything useful?" _You could say that_ , Peter snorted in his mind. Instead of answering right away, the agent sat down in the arm chair closest to Neal. He could practically feel the young man tensing at the silence.

"Neal," he started. "Who do you know in Witness Protection?" Peter almost reached out to catch his partner, certain he was going to faint with how fast the color drained out of his face. Once the kid seemed to semi-gather himself again, he could only stammer out a lie.

"I-I don't. No. There's no one." Peter looked Neal square in the eye.

"Neal, I had Jones run the number you called from my phone." The look of betrayal on Neal's face was almost enough to make Peter back down, but he couldn't. "According to him and angry drunk woman answered the phone." Neal looked down in embarrassment and shame, neither of which made sense to Peter.

"It's Witness Protection. Aren't you not allowed to ask," Neal mumbled. Peter groaned inside. It was like pulling teeth, and then he remembered that Neal was in the mindset of a teenager. A polite one, but still a teenager.

"Neal, there are Marshals involved in this case. I need to know if there is a possibility that whoever did this was targeting you specifically." Neal's nostrils flared in frustration.

"Well, I can't remember who shot me, so I wouldn't be able to tell you that!" Peter growled softly. Neal had been difficult to get information from before, but now Peter's partner was a stubborn kid with an attitude.

"Neal, I'm just trying to protect you!" Peter wasn't expecting the outburst he got.

"That's what they said too, but they lied! How do I know you're not lying too?!" Neal's face was bright red, and he was breathing heavily. It was the tears starting to rim the young man's eyes that concerned and surprised Peter the most. Before Peter could say anything else though, Neal suddenly dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "Ooowww…" Any other time Peter would think Neal was just pretending to get him to drop the subject, but the kid was practically ripping his hair out, he was clutching his head so tightly.

"Hold on, Bud. I'll get you an-" An ice pack appeared by Peter's face before he could finish the sentence. The agent took it from his wife and pressed Neal's shoulder to get him to lie back. He set the ice pack on Neal's forehead and sighed. "You can have some more pain medicine in a couple hours, if you need it, Bud." Neal bit the inside of his lip and nodded. The kid really did look pitiful.

When Peter turned his back on the couch, he was face to face with a very unhappy looking Elizabeth. Her arms were crossed and her eyebrow raised. She pointedly looked between him and Neal, then walked around him and up the stairs. Peter closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten. Once he felt sufficiently calm, he patted Neal on the shoulder and followed his wife up to their bedroom.

As soon as the door was closed, El was on him.

"Peter, what _was_ that," she hissed. Peter sighed again, rubbing a hand down his face.

"El, I had Jones run the number Neal called from my phone-"

"I heard that, Peter. I'm talking about you, just now, treating Neal like some sort of suspect. He thinks he's sixteen, Peter. To him, he's only known us for a day and a half! He's scared, and you're not helping!" Peter almost growled, he was so frustrated.

"I'm trying to find out who shot him! I can't do that, if he's keeping information from me! Neal does this all the time. He keeps things from me, because he thinks he can handle problems by himself-"

"That is not our Neal down there!" El's words stopped Peter dead in his tracks. His mouth hung open and anything he had been about to say was sucked right out of him. He could see the tears starting to form in El's eyes, and all of his anger drained away. Peter stepped forward and enveloped his wife in his arms. "That is not our Neal," she muttered into his chest. "That is a scared little boy, that is in pain and is surrounded by strangers." Peter rubbed a hand up and down her back.

"You're right, El. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Shhh." They stayed like that, wrapped around one another, for a few minutes. Eventually El calmed down and pulled away, wiping her face. She placed her hands on her hips and gave Peter a hard look.

"Peter, you are going to go downstairs, apologize to Neal, and then _talk_ to him, not interrogate him." Peter nodded, and together they left the room and went back downstairs. Neal was curled up on his side on the couch, ice pack over his eyes and forehead, and Satchmo curled up on his feet. Peter gave the dog a look, but Satchmo just looked right back, daring his owner to kick him off the couch and away from Neal.

He turned to his wife for help, and she just smiled at the scene and patted Peter on the shoulder, walking into the kitchen. The agent sighed and sat back down in his chair.

"Neal?" He made sure to keep his tone soft and non-threatening. The young man didn't respond verbally, and instead curled up into a tighter ball. Peter's brow furrowed, and he laid a hand on his partner's shoulder. It trembled under his palm. "Neal?" Concern seeped into his voice, and finally Neal lifted the ice pack and met his eyes. The kid's blue eyes were rimmed in red.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Please, I'm sorry." At Neal's pleading, desperate tone, Peter's heart cracked.

* * *

 **I apparently have a thing for a crying/abused/distressed Neal Caffrey. But since you're reading this I can only assume you do too. ;)**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 10

 **Of course as soon as I get my free time back, each of my teachers dump 3 projects and a major test on me. Ugh. My brain!**

 **PS The amnesia example Peter thinks about is actually from MY Psych 101 class from last year. I didn't come up with it. It felt applicable.**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Let's Clear Some Things Up**

Neal looked terrified…of him. Peter didn't know what to do. El had heard the tense quiet from the kitchen and came out to see what was going on. She saw the terrified look on Neal's face and a similar look on Peter's and stepped in.

"Sweetie, is everything okay?" Neal's eyes jumped to El and his breathing started to pick up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" he muttered over and over as he curled up tighter and tighter. Satchmo started whining and was torn between wanting to growl at his owners or comfort the pup on the couch. Elizabeth crouched by Neal's head, blocking the young man's view of Peter.

"Neal, you have nothing to be sorry for. Everything's alright. No one's mad. I promise." Neal's eyes had been firmly locked on El when she was speaking, but they kept flicking worryingly over her shoulder towards Peter. It finally clicked in El's head. Neal must have heard them yelling upstairs. He was scared that…he was scared of Peter. "Neal, he's not mad. Are you, Peter?"

The agent had been watching the interaction and had caught on to the same thing his wife had. He was quick to crouch down beside his wife and stop looming menacingly over his partner.

"Of course not, Buddy. I promise, I'm not mad at you. I'm just…scared. I'm mad at myself that you got hurt. You did nothing wrong, Neal." The young man didn't look entirely convinced, but he uncurled a bit.

"Y-you're not mad that…that I yelled at you?" Peter shook his head.

"No, Bud. I was pressing you when I shouldn't have. I'm sorry." Neal suddenly barked out an incredulous laugh that seemed to startle even him. The kid was still shaking, but he closed his eyes and tried to take some deep breaths.

"This whole situation is just crazy." Peter couldn't help but snort at Neal's observation.

"You could say that again." El and Peter let Neal try and calm down, and after a few minutes the young man succeeded. He opened his eyes and sat up.

"Sorry about that. Doc wasn't kidding when he was talking about emotional distress and panic. Feels like I could cry at the drop of a hat. Or turning into a shaking mess apparently." The biting edge in Neal's words didn't sit well with Peter.

"It's understandable, Bud. You've been knocked around quite a bit, not to mention traumatized." Neal sighed and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess. Just…being a teenager with hormones is hard enough, you know? Now I have even less control over- Wait. Not sixteen. Right. Forgot." Neal pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. El patted Neal's knee.

"You're not alone, Sweetie. We'll help you through this. We understand that this is hard on you." Neal huffed out a breath like ' _Yeah, no kidding.'_ He rubbed circles into his temples and took another deep breath.

"I…I really appreciate everything. I- yeah. It's really nice of you guys." The Burkes smiled warmly at him, and Neal offered them a small one in return. He continued to look at Peter for a few moments, before his smile dropped. Neal bit his bottom lip and looked to be arguing with himself in his head. Peter could only hope it meant Neal was going to tell him something. The kid straightened up and looked Peter dead in the eye.

"If…if I tell you who was on the other end of my phone call will you promise to drop it? It has nothing to do with what happened." Neal gestured to his head where the stitches from his bullet graze were visible. Peter slipped back into his FBI persona (just enough to mean business, but not enough to upset El again).

"Tell me, and I'll be the judge of that." When Neal opened his mouth to argue, Peter held up a hand. "Neal, you can't remember who shot you. I won't dig too deep, unless I find out that it _is_ linked. I just want to find the person who did this to you, Bud." Neal clenched his jaw and glared at the floor for a few moments. Finally, he gave a terse nod.

"Okay. Just- okay. It was my mom." Peter's eyebrows met his hairline, and El swallowed back a gasp. She had never thought about Neal's family. It just…didn't seem to fit with his lone wolf, suave attitude.

"Your mother is in Witness Protection?" Neal nodded again, not saying anything. Then something else pinged in the back of Peter's mind. "Wait, what about you? Wouldn't yo- Oh my gosh. Neal, did you _run away_ from Witness Protection!?" Neal reached a hand back and squeezed the back of his neck.

"Well, according to the calendar and you that was actually years ago, so I don't see how it's an issue." Peter dropped his face into his hands and took a moment to breathe, not letting his anger get the best of him again.

"Neal, whoever was after you before could have finally found you. That could be what this is." Neal opened and closed his mouth, unable to come up with a counter-argument. After a long moment, Peter stood and pulled out his phone. "I'm going to call Jones and Diana. Hopefully they will be able to do some digging, without alerting the Marshals. I can't promise they won't get involved though." Neal's head hung down, the kid the perfect picture of defeat.

Peter stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not throwing you back to the wolves, Neal. I don't know why you thought it a better option to run _from_ the Marshals than stay, but I'm not just going to hand you back over. I can easily argue that you are safer now than you were before, being a completely new person and all." Neal nodded solemnly, not meeting Peter's gaze. Peter left to go back out on the patio, and El reached over and pat Neal's knee, before standing.

"I'm going to get back to fixing up something to eat. I was just going to make some sandwiches, is that alright with you, Neal? Anything you don't like on them?" Neal gave El a kind smile.

"That's fine with me, El. Thank you. Just…no mayo if anything." El smiled and nodded.

"Alright, Sweetie. I'll be back in a couple minutes." Once both Burkes were out of the room, Neal fell back against the back of the couch. His hands covered his face and he let out a deep sigh. He was really starting to wish he had managed to sneak out of the hospital rather than staying. Satchmo whined at him from the floor, and Neal pulled his hands away.

"What, Satchmo? Are you upset with me too?" The dog whined again and pawed at the couch. Neal slowly lowered himself onto his side until his face was directly opposite Satchmo's. The dog scooted forward and happily licked his nose. Neal's face scrunched up, but it didn't stop his involuntary smile. He pushed Satchmo back to a safer distance and scratched the dog's head. Neal tried his best not to look, but he kept sneaking glances behind Satchmo, through the windows to where Peter was talking to Jones about what Neal had told him.

Though Neal knew, from what he was told, that he didn't just run away two days prior, that he _wasn't_ actually sixteen, it still felt fresh. It felt like a betrayal, that even though his mother stopped being a mother to him a long time ago, he could have just put her in great danger. His eyes skidded over the pad of paper on the coffee table.

A strong wave of hatred engulfed Neal for a few seconds. He was blinded by red, and when he came to, it was to shredded paper in his hands. Said hands shook. When Neal had calmed a bit, he carefully gathered up all of the shredded paper (even taking a piece from Satchmo's mouth) and went into the kitchen.

El was putting sandwiches on plates and was very pointedly not judging in her glances.

"The trashcan in under the sink, Sweetie." Neal couldn't stop the blush that colored his cheeks. She had heard him ripping stuff to shreds like a toddler throwing a tantrum and let him do it. El didn't glare at him or scold him. She let him have his emotions and didn't judge. Neal's heart ached for the times when his mother had been like that. El motioned for Neal to follow her to the kitchen table, and she laid out their lunch. She had even whipped up a quick salad to go with it.

"Thanks, El. This looks really good." El snorted and waved a hand.

"It's just sandwiches, but thank you, Sweetie. I don't know how long Peter's going to be so- Well, speak of the devil." Peter Burke had just opened the back door and froze, a confused look on his face.

"Who's the devil?" El smiled fondly and rolled her eyes.

"Just come in and sit down, Hon. Food's ready." Peter didn't need anymore coaxing, and soon happily munched on his deviled ham sandwich. Neal couldn't help but scrunch up his nose at what the agent was eating. Peter smirked.

"Well, it seems your dislike of my taste in food was always there." Neal snorted softly at that but shook his head.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Deviled ham is disgusting, and everyone knows it. You're just weird." Peter's jaw fell open, and El's hand went to her mouth to block the giggle that threatened to escape. The look of complete innocence on Neal's face as he asked, 'What?' was what did her in. Soon she was full out laughing at Peter, and her husband sputtered. When she calmed down she was only able to get a few words out.

"It's true, Hon. It's nasty." Peter pouted down at his sandwich.

"I don't think it is," he muttered, then followed the comment up with an extra big bite….which he promptly choked on.

Neal and El both burst out laughing then, as Peter had a coughing fit between them. When Peter finally got his breath back, he glared at the two of them.

"I hate both of you." That sent Neal and El into a new fit of giggles, but eventually, the mirth ended and they finished their respective sandwiches in peace. As Neal helped El clear things away, there came a knock at the door. They all shared the same surprised and confused expression, before Peter got up to answer it.

His eyebrows shot up upon seeing who it was.

"Director Hughes! Uh, come in, Sir." Hughes smirked at the agent's flustered expression, but did as bid. He nodded to El and Neal when they came out of the kitchen at Peter's exclamation.

"So, Peter, want to tell me why I'm getting complaints from the US Marshals that we are being uncooperative? Not to mention they've been complaining about someone trying to dig through old, _confidential_ case files?" Peter couldn't help but feel guilty, like he had been brought into the principal's office for stick gum under the seat. But then he remembered how the Marshals acted in _his_ home and the guilt was quickly swept away.

"They came to my _home_ and imposed on my wife while I wasn't here. They then proceeded to insult both me and Neal. When I refused there barely veiled threatening help, they childishly shoulder chucked Neal into Diana, nearly knocking them both into the ground. _Then,_ just a little while ago, Neal revealed that he…he ran away from Witness Protection when he was sixteen. I thought it might have something to do with the case and asked Jones to look into it…Sir." Peter waited for the reprimand, silently hoping that El and Neal would sneak back into the kitchen and pretend they don't hear anything.

Instead, the Director sighed.

"Burke, I don't like them as much as you do, in fact I have a few choice names for Thick Head 1 and 2, but I have to be polite and at least _pretend_ I'm working with them. Next time you want to go around them, talk to me. Don't have your junior agents go snooping through confidential files for you." Peter's head whipped up, eyes wide in shock that his boss wasn't screaming at him. He quickly shut his mouth and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Sir. I'll be sure to go directly to you." Reese smirked.

"Good. I'd hate to have to drag you into my office for a formal talk on interagency cooperation. Is that clear?" Peter nodded vigorously.

"Yes, Sir. Loud and clear." Reese nodded.

"That's what I like to hear, Burke. Now, do you want to explain to me why you had Jones and Berrigan digging through classified US Marshal files? They were only able to give me a feeble excuse before the two Jockheads came in." So, Peter explained what Neal had told him, and why he was led to believe that Neal's dealings with the Marshals might have led to the kid being shot.

Reese leaned back in his chair.

"I don't know, Burke. Ten years is a long time to not do anything. Then again, we've had some real crazies crawl back out of the woodwork after a _couple_ decades. Has Neal told you _why_ he was in protective custody?" Peter shook his head. Reese didn't even turn his head to call for the young man.

"Neal, come here. I want to talk to you, Son." Neal who had heard the whole conversation, slowly came around the corner. Reese nodded towards the empty seat next to Burke and waited until the kid sat down before continuing.

"Now, you are going to tell me why you were in Witness Protection and why you ran away. Is that clear?" Neal nodded, but his hands were shaking terribly. Maybe…he should lie.

* * *

 **This whole story is just one massive roller coaster. Lol. But it's a fun one. ;)**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	11. Chapter 11

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 11

 **Pretty sure copy and paste is the extent of my technical abilities. Thank goodness that's all sound editing programs require for my projects. T.T**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **The Truth**

Peter and Reese watched Neal closely. They saw the young man's hands shaking as the Director ordered him to answer his questions. It was clear Neal was scared, but then a few seconds later, the kid's face morphed. They could tell right away that Neal was going to try to con them. _Interesting_ , Peter couldn't help but think. _I wonder how long it took the kid to get his facial expressions under control._

"My mom and I were- we were walking home one afternoon, and as we walked passed an alley there was a gunshot. A man burst out and ran directly into us. We both saw his face. Turns out the FBI _and_ the Marshals were looking for him, kind of like now. Next thing I know we got shipped off to some crappy small town." Neal tried to shrug casually, but it came off more as a violent twitch he was so tense. Reese raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah? And why did you run off?" Neal's face contorted into an attempt at sheepish.

"I was tired of being stuck there, of being told constantly what I couldn't do. I wanted to see the city, so I just…left." Reese and Peter were quiet for a moment, before they both rolled their eyes.

"Right. Okay, kid. Pull the other one." Neal reared back.

"W-what?"

"Bud, you might be a brilliant con artist, when you _remember_ , but right now, you really suck at lying." Neal's cheeks flamed red, and he clenched his jaw and looked away. Peter's eyes narrowed as the kid's knee started bopping up and down and every other muscle got tense. Neal only ever did that when he was legitimately scared of something. The agent shared a look with Reese, and he knew the Director had picked up on the same thing.

"Alright," the Director started out slow after a few moments of silence. "You know what I think? I think that someone's got to be really scared and upset to want to run _away_ from the people protecting them. It might be stupid to run off to where the bad guy can get you, but at the time it probably seems like their only option. What do you think?" Neal didn't look at them, but his hand came up and quickly wiped a tear off of his cheek.

Peter's chest ached. Neal looked every bit the sixteen years old the kid thought he was. The agent couldn't stand to see the kid look so scared. He reached out slowly and laid a hand on Neal's shoulder. The young man tensed and turned his face away from the hand as though he could protect it without fully curling in on himself. That was all the answer Peter needed. He pushed his anger aside for the time being and focussed instead on his scared, young partner.

"Neal, it's alright. You can tell us. We're not going to send you back. You'll stay here with El and me, and me and Jones and Diana, we'll keep you safe." Neal finally lifted his head and looked at both Director Hughes and Peter for a long while. His eyes widened when he only saw honesty on their faces.

"R-really? You promise?" This time Reese nodded.

"Yes. You will be under our protection, not the Marshals'." The corner of Neal mouth twitched up, in what Peter thought was supposed to be a smile.

"O-okay." The agents gave Neal a few moments to collect himself, and if Peter was not mistaken, El was most definitely listening in from the kitchen.

"I…I honestly didn't know why we were taken away by the Marshals for years. I was really young, and when I was old enough to understand…my mom was constantly drunk at that point and no one bothered to tell me." Neal's hands clenched into tight fists. "The Marshals would stay in the house with us. I used to think they were so _cool_. I knew my dad had been a cop so…so around eight I started constantly spouting about how I wanted to be a hero just like him. They would laugh and sneer at me…but I didn't know why." Neal got quiet for a moment, and his eyes glazed over. "They didn't start hitting me until I was ten." Peter and Reese, though they were both sort of expecting it, jerked in their seats. Only their grips on the chair arms kept them in place.

Neal didn't even notice. "Apparently, at first they just thought it was funny, that I wanted to grow up to be like my dad. Then I guess they got sick of it. I started getting angry at them, because they never told me why, just 'Shut up! Your old man is a disgusting pig.' I would yell that they were wrong, and then they would laugh as I tried to fight back. Mom never noticed, never cared. I started thinking that I could grow up and be like my dad. Be a cop so I could help kids who got hurt like me, save them from people like the Marshals. Be a hero, like my dad. I finally found out a couple weeks ago…sorry, I guess a few years ago…why they always laughed."

The young man wiped tears from his cheeks again and sniffled. Neither agent commented, for which Neal would be grateful for later.

"Turns out, we were in WITSEC _because_ of my dad. He was a cop, and he killed another cop. They were afraid he would come after us and thought my mom could tell them things…They took his partner into protection too. Ellen. She lived near us, and she finally told me when I begged her when I was fifteen. I didn't say anything at first, didn't tell the Marshals that I knew. One night it was so bad, that I told them, but they didn't _stop_. They just laughed again!" Neal clenched his eyes shut and gripped his hair, but before Peter could stop him, Neal took a few breaths and calmed down. When he opened his eyes, he just stared at the ground. "I decided I couldn't stay and left a couple nights later, _planning_ on never looking back."

Reese and Peter took in the new information and tried to keep their emotions in check. Both were quite eager to learn the names of the two Marshals who were supposed to protect a young child and his mother, and instead abused said child and used the confidential information they had as an excuse. Before either of them could say anything, however, Neal started talking again.

"I really don't think it's my dad. He never did anything for years. Why would he try now?" Peter could only nod.

"You are probably right, Neal, but we need to check. If anything, in case he does try something later on." Neal dropped his head into his hands but nodded in understanding. His fingers trailed carefully to his temples and massaged them gently, wary of the stitches.

"Are you alright, Bud? Do you need another ice pack? You've still got an hour or so before you can take another pill." Hughes had to bite back a smile at how much of a mother hen Burke was being over Caffrey. And Peter wonders why Neal normally avoids telling the man he was sick. Burke would cuff Neal in his penthouse and force-feed him chicken noodle soup if he could get away with it. Then again, knowing Burke's team, they would probably help him.

"I'm okay, thanks. Just…an emotion headache, I guess you could call it. That's what I get for being a baby though so-"

"Neal Caffrey, not another word. There is nothing wrong with a few tears over what happened to you." El was out of the kitchen, hands on her hips and a fierce expression on her face. Peter wasn't surprised. El wasn't the kind to let people say bad things about those she cared about, even those she cared about. Neal's blue eyes widened in alarm as the woman swooped over him.

Suddenly the young con man found himself wrapped in a big hug and a dog laying on his feet. His hands floated in the air, unsure where to settle in this situation. It was…very strange. He hadn't had a motherly hug in years. After a few moments, when El wasn't letting go, Neal slowly and carefully brought his arms up and around the woman too, until it was a full embrace. It was…nice. It felt very nice.

Neal closed his eyes, and another tear slipped out as he let himself have the comfort. He felt something wet land on his own shoulder and then realized that El wasn't just hugging him for his own benefit, but for her's too.

After another couple of minutes, El finally sighed and let go. She wiped her face clear and pushed her hair back.

"Okay, well I'm going to make some more tea if anyone wants it." With that she left for the kitchen again, no doubt just trying to gather herself. Hughes took that moment to stand.

"I have to get back to the office and inform Jones and Berrigan of this new development. I'll also be putting in a call to the Director of the Marshals and get any more pertinent information we need. Neal stays here. He's an FBI consultant; I don't care what the Marshals try to say." Peter and Neal smiled at the Director, and the man showed himself out.

Satchmo groaned from his spot on Neal's feet, until the young man reached down and scratched his head. The golden dog sighed happily and leaned further into Neal's legs.

"Satchmo would more than likely bite the Marshals if they came around again. You don't have anything to worry about, Neal. You're safe." Neal gave Peter a small smile, and the knot in his chest loosened a bit.

* * *

Diana glared at the Marshals currently rummaging through Neal's desk. It didn't even look like they were actually trying to find anything. Papers littered the floor on and around the desk. Little knick knacks were getting tossed about haphazardly and stepped on. Marshal Roberts snorted at the number of origami flowers and cranes in the top left drawer, before crushing a dozen in his hand and tossing them to the ground like garbage.

All of the other agents in the vicinity were glaring at the Marshals as well, though not with as much murderous intent as Diana. They were appalled by the behavior of the visiting agents. They had come in with a superior attitude and had demanded anything everyone had. Even those who weren't friends with Neal Caffrey were pissed at the agents for their regards towards the con. The Marshals had been oh so sympathetic when they heard one of the FBI's own had been shot…until they found out who Neal was.

Now they were digging through Neal's stuff as if he were the criminal in all of this, not the victim. Some in the office didn't really blame the Marshals for begin suspicious of Caffrey, but their actions were more like those of vindictive children than professional agents. When they ripped apart Neal's rubber band ball, Diana opened her mouth to call them out. She was interrupted however, by Director Hughes reentering the office.

The older man stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the carnage that was Neal's desk. The other agents in the vicinity scattered, as Reese Hughes slowly walked towards the two Marshals.

"Have you found any information regarding Caffrey's assailant inside the paper cranes or am I truly witnessing two grown United States Marshals destroying a victim's belongings for no good reason?" Marshals Roberts and Smith froze and looked up at Hughes. Roberts looked like he wanted to say something snide, but a quelling glare from the Director made him rethink it. When neither man offered up an excuse for their behavior, Hughes pursed his lips.

"Very well. I want everything put back exactly where you found it, and I will be putting a call in to your superior." Marshal Smith sneered at the Director, but the older man simply walked away. He pointed at Diana and Jones.

"You two, my office." The two junior agents looked to each other for an answer and followed the Director. Once they were both seated across the desk, Reese shut the door and put down the blinds after a pointed look at the Marshals, telling them to get to their task.

"Sir? Is this about earlier? I swear I haven't dug any further-" Hughes held up a hand to stop Jone's rambling.

"Actually, I am going to be putting in some calls to get you that information. However, there is something I need to discuss with you both. This is to be kept between us, Mr. and Mrs. Burke and Caffrey, do you understand? Under no circumstances are our guests going to hear what I am about to tell you." Jones and Diana nodded, growing concerned at the Director's ominous tone.

"Sir?" Hughes sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"I went to speak with Agent Burke about your sneaking around confidential Marshal files, and had an informative chat with Neal." The junior agents' eyebrows went up. Hughes never called Caffrey by his first name. "You know he is in the mindset of a sixteen year old, correct?" At their nod he continued. "Well, apparently Neal was _in_ Witness Protection, and the woman you were looking for was his mother." He let that sink in for a moment, their shock evident. "His dad was a dirty cop, killed another cop, so the Marshals whisked Neal, his mother, and his dad's partner away into protective custody."

"Well, then…how the hell did Caffrey become…well, Caffrey?" Hughes looked Jones and Diana in the eyes as he gathered himself for the next part.

"Neal informed me that he ran away, in his mind a few days ago, because he had learned the truth about what his father had done…and he couldn't take the abuse anymore."

"The what?!" Hughes gave the two a stern look to quite them. The two settled back down and Jones cleared his throat.

"Um…abuse, Sir?" Reese nodded.

"Yes. It seems the Marshals assigned to protect Neal and his mother decided to hit Neal whenever he said he wanted to be a hero like his dad, and then they just did it for fun." Diana and Jones looked like they wanted to take their anger out on the two Marshals down on the floor since they couldn't hurt who they really wanted to. "I am not telling you this so you can justify any violence towards the two idiots out there. I want you to do some discreet digging. I'm going to try to get what you need through the proper channels, but…" He let that hang for them to fill in the blanks. They understood.

"So you think it might be Neal's father?" Hughes tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"Perhaps. But look at everyone involved. I just have a bad feeling about all this."

* * *

 **Seriously getting writer's block with this story! And with finals coming up...this will be interesting.**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	12. Chapter 12

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 12

 **I just _love_ waking up at 2am with a fever right before finals week. -_- Can it be break yet? PS Never fear, a new chapter is here! I pinky promise to never leave a story hanging. **

**PPS Please remember that I don't actually know FBI procedure or what they are taught in the academy. This all comes from my own head.**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **It's Gone**

After the Director left, Neal became more subdued. Peter and El could tell that he was embarrassed and scared. Neal accepted the offered tea and another ice pack, but he didn't actually drink any. After a few minutes of awkward, tense silence, Peter felt the need to break it.

"Bud…I'm sorry for giving you a hard time earlier about running away from Witness Protection. There were other options you could have-" Peter caught the sharp look from his wife, and cut himself off. He cleared his throat. "Um, yes. But I understand why you did it. I'm sorry you had to go through that." Neal pulled his head up with a taken-aback expression on his face.

"You mean you actually believe me? I- I mean…" Neal turned red at his outburst and ducked his head, but not before seeing the matching stunned looks on Peter and El's faces. "You're not mad at me for saying those kinds of things about other…agents," Neal questioned cautiously. Peter's heart cracked a little at the barest flicker of hope in Neal's eyes, waiting to be snuffed out.

"Of course not, Kid. The Neal Caffrey I know would never admit to something like this happening in a million years. The fact that you actually did, means that it was serious enough and scared you enough that you had to say something. Besides, in these types of scenarios we are taught to treat what the victim says as truth and investigate from there. But, Kid, I believe you. I don't think you're lying." Neal seemed completely stunned for a moment. Peter waited for his partner's response.

A tear suddenly slid down Neal's cheek. A broken sob escaped, and the young man's hand flew up to cover his mouth. From there it was like the dam broke. Sobs wrenched from Neal's chest, and tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Neal was so overcome with relief that someone actually believed him and would help him, that someone actually _cared,_ he couldn't keep it all in anymore. Peter was panicked. He wasn't sure what was going on. El, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening.

She sat down on the couch next to Neal and pulled him to her chest. The kid didn't fight her at all and wound his arms around her while burying his face in her neck.

"It's alright, Neal. Let it out." El sent Peter a reassuring look, so her husband could relax a bit. His wife had it all under control.

After a few minutes, Neal's crying tapered out. He stayed in El's arms (practically in her lap) and was quiet for a little while. The moment he opened his mouth, El interrupted him.

"Don't you dare apologize, Neal Caffrey. If you need to cry, you cry. There's nothing wrong with that. Besides, you know the doctor said you'd probably be a bit more emotional." Neal's mouth shut with a click, and Peter bit back a snort. They sat together until Satchmo started to whine. Neal shook his head, but pet the pooch anyway.

"Jealous dog," he muttered. Peter's eyes suddenly caught sight of a pad of paper, and a question struck him.

"Neal, could I see the pictures you drew?" El perked up at the idea, but the young man didn't seem too thrilled. Finally, he slowly nodded and got off of El to grab the pad of paper. He held it close to his chest, as if afraid to hand it over, before reluctantly holding it out to Peter.

"They're not really any good, but…I mean…if you want really to." Peter gave Neal his best reassuring smile. He took the timidly offered pad and flipped to the first drawing. He wasn't surprised by the bottle of alcohol. Neal's mother was obviously an alcoholic, so Neal had probably grown up seeing more than a few lying about. He was more concerned over the fact that it was shattered. If Peter had to guess, Neal's mother had thrown it; he could only hope it wasn't _at_ Neal.

The second drawing was of an old screen door. Neal had even done faint outlines through the mesh so that Peter could tell the door led out towards the street. It was definitely something Peter knew the older Neal would avoid, should he be sneaking in or out of a place. However, it looked like the easiest escape for a scared teenager.

When Peter flipped to the last drawing, he needed to take a deep breath and control his anger. Neal conveyed a lot of emotion in such a basic (for him) sketch. The two figures had to be the Marshals, as they were the only men Neal had mentioned that stayed with them. Darkness shrouded the whole scene, both drawing Peter in and making him long to burn the picture. After a few moments more of staring, Peter cleared his throat and passed the pad off to his wife.

"Those are very good, Neal. You got a lot across." Neal gave Peter a nervous smile, not sure how to take the comment. The young man watched El's face as the woman examined his drawings. He saw the way her eyebrows pinched closer and closer together. When she got to the last one, her mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

Peter meanwhile observed Neal. The tension in his partner's muscles was unmistakable. When El reacted to the last picture, he could see Neal bite his lips, probably to contain an apology, knowing what El would say in return. El surprised both of them, when she cleared her throat.

"They're facial features are blacked out. Is that intentional?" They heard the real question: _Do you remember what they looked like?_

"I did that on purpose, yeah. I still remember what they look like, clear as day." El went back to studying the picture. Her fingers hovered over the page, holding herself back from touching it. She had a very strong urge to claw at the demonic men seated at the table.

El took a deep breath and flipped back to the first page. She set the pad down and patted the spot next to her on the coach. Neal sat next to her hesitantly, waiting for her to explode (in anger or tears, he didn't know). Elizabeth did neither. Instead she wrapped an arm around the young man and pulled him close.

"They are never going to hurt you again. I won't let them." Neal's lips curled up into a smile, and he relaxed into the hug.

* * *

Jones and Diana felt a renewed hatred for the Marshals invading their space. After speaking with Director Hughes, they couldn't stop picturing a young Caffrey being terrorized and beaten by the two men joining their investigation. Obviously it wasn't them. Neal would have said that…hopefully…but it seemed the US Marshals were handpicked for their nasty personalities, from what they had encountered.

Currently, the two Marshals were pouting after getting ripped a new one from their boss. Hughes hadn't been kidding when he threatened them earlier, which they quickly found out. They were currently pouting around the coffee pot, glaring at anyone that went near them.

Jones felt like giggling as the image brought to mind two five year olds sent to the time out corner. He settled for smirking meanly in their direction and then focussing back on his work. After Hughes had made his phone call, Jones and Diana had each been swamped with semi-confidential files. Jones took the files on Neal's case, while Diana looked at all the agents involved. It seemed the Marshals had a lot more on Neal and his family than the FBI did. Despite that, Jones just wasn't finding anything substantial. After another thirty minutes of fruitless digging, Jones growled and leaned back in his chair, glaring at his computer.

He turned to ask Diana if she had found anything and saw her clicking and typing furiously.

"Diana? You got something?" Jones was quick to get to his feet and stand behind her chair, looking over her shoulder.

"Maybe," she muttered under her breath. Diana suddenly stopped and made a curious noise in the back of her throat. She leaned closer, to make sure what she was seeing was real, before she quickly grabbed a pen and paper and started taking furious notes.

"Diana?" The female agent paused her writing just long enough to point at the picture of the man on the screen. Once Jones was looking, Diana was back to jotting down notes.

"That man is Jackson Derk. He was one of the Marshals assigned to watch over Neal and his mom." Diana set her pen down and looked at Jones. "And guess who got fired for 'misconduct in the line of duty' a week after Neal ran away?" Jones couldn't stop the huff of disbelief. He didn't want to think that a fellow agent of justice would do something like this, but then again he didn't want to think that fellow agents would beat a child they were assigned and swore to protect.

"Can we go talk to him?" Jones scanned the screen for a current address or phone number, but it looked like the information was 10 years old. Diana shook her head, confirming his suspicions.

"No, but I fully intend to give his next of kin a call. See if he kept in touch." Jones nodded, agreeing with the plan of action.

"So what are we thinking? Suspect? Possibly knows something?" Diana and Jones simultaneously glanced at the visiting Marshals, who had given up pouting to start doing something semi-productive. Diana looked back at the picture on the screen and his reason for dismissal.

"I'm leaning more towards suspect."

* * *

Neal was laying down on the couch again. He didn't like how tired he constantly was or how many emotional outbursts he kept having. Yet…he couldn't deny that it was a great relief to have found not one, but multiple people who cared…who believed him. If tears were the way to go, than he wasn't about to knock them, besides, maybe there was something to be said about the whole purging and cleansing power of tears. Whatever it was, Neal accepted his situation and allowed El to mother him a bit.

Neal felt like cursing when his eyelids began to feel heavy. He'd slept enough! But apparently his body disagreed with him. The young man startled a bit when he felt a hand settled on his head.

"Go to sleep, Bud. You need it. No point fighting it." Neal couldn't fight it even if he wanted to after the agent's encouraging words, and he soon drifted off into unconsciousness.

 _"Peter!" Neal's heart was pounding. He couldn't breathe. His head hurt. Why did his head hurt!_

 _"Peter, you're the…the only person that I actually_ trust _." He couldn't escape. He just kept running and running and running-_

 _"Peter!" A gunshot rang through the air. A man's face…who? Who is it? 'I know him!' "Peter!"_

 _"Mom, please! Please, just stop. I_ need _you-" Neal flinched as a glass bottle shattered against the wall and inch from his head. He couldn't stop the shaking in his arms and legs as he ran from the room, his mother spitting vitriol after him._

 _"I'll be a hero." A fist connected with his ribs. "I'm gonna grow up to be a cop." A booted foot stomped on his thigh while he was down. "I'm going to be just like my dad." Meaty fingers twisted through his hair and pulled him up to his knees. The Marshal's foul breathe made his nose hairs curl._

 _"Oh yeah. A monster, just like your old man." Neal closed his eyes before the open hand met his cheek. His head! Oh, his head!_

 _"Peter!" A gunshot. "Peter!" Who?! Who?! "PETER!"_

"PETER!" Neal shot awake on the couch, his throat burning and his head throbbing. Arms wrapped around them, and he initially tried to fight them in a panic. The arms tightened, and the tears running down his cheeks blurred everything out. The young man felt himself pulled back against a strong chest, but not in a menacing way. Neal felt himself sinking into the other person's embrace and sobbing into the offered chest. Eventually he became aware of a hand rubbing up and down his back and a deep voice speaking above him.

"It's alright, Neal. It was just a nightmare. You're safe. I'm here. You're safe." _Peter_ , Neal's mind helpfully supplied. The knowledge of who was holding him just made Neal relax even further until his entire upper body was pressing into the FBI agent. After a few minutes of full out sobbing, Neal was finally able to get words out.

"I'm s-sorry." Peter's hand stilled for a moment, before moving to settle on the back of Neal's neck. A gentle tug pulled Neal back enough for Peter to meet his eyes.

"What are you sorry about, Bud?" Neal shook his head and wiped tears away with the back of his hand.

"I- I saw him." Peter's eyes went wide.

"You did? You saw the man that shot you?" Neal nodded.

"Yeah. B-but I can't remember. I saw him…but it's gone."

* * *

 **Figured it was time Neal had a nightmare. :) Those seem to be a recurring theme in all of my stories.**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	13. Chapter 13

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 13

 **Whoa! Vacation has really refreshed my writing well so far. Here we go! Brand new chapter** **just for you. Thanks so much to all of you! :)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Slipping Out**

Peter and El stood on the outer edge of the kitchen watching Neal. The young man was on his second notepad of paper and was in a sea of crumpled up drawings. Neal had gotten it into his head that if he tried to draw the face from his dream it would come back to him. After an hour, no luck, and Peter's partner was getting more and more frustrated.

"Peter, this isn't good. Neal's working himself up into a frenzy," El whispered into her husband's ear. Peter nodded, not taking his eyes off of his friend. After a moment,

"I'll try talking to him." Peter walked over to stand by the coach. He waited for Neal to acknowledge him, but his young partner never did. The FBI agent watched the young man break his pencil led and growl in frustration and had had enough.

"Hey, Bud, C'mon. Give it a break." Neal shrugged off the hand Peter laid on his shoulder and reached for the pencil sharpener El had given him earlier.

"It's like his face is right _there_! I can almost see it." Neal looked down at his most recent drawing, and with a scowl, ripped it to shreds. "I just can't draw it!" Peter reached forward and snatched the pencil Neal's hands before he broke it and hurt himself. The FBI agent didn't really notice (or care) as his hands went right back to holding Neal's when the pencil was a safe distance away.

"Neal, it is okay. I'm more concerned about you hurting yourself by forcing yourself to remember than if you ever actually do. We've got plenty of people working the case. We'll find this guy. Just…deep breaths, Bud." The young man clenched his jaw, but after taking Peter's suggestion, he eventually calmed down. Peter glanced at the clock. "It's been long enough. You can have another pill if you need it."

The agent was happy to see Neal actually consider it, before the kid eventually nodded. Peter gave him a reassuring smile, before standing and grabbing the prescription bottle. He shook a pill out into his hand, before passing it to Neal. The kid washed it down with his now cold tea and sighed.

"It's only been what…a day? And I already want this to be over." Peter snorted and patted Neal's shoulder.

"You and me both, Kid." The evening that followed the frustrated bought of drawing was…relatively uneventful given the past two days. The Burkes put on movies to distract Neal from his nightmare and ordered Chinese for dinner. Satchmo was allowed up on the couch and claimed Neal as his personal pillow, not that the kid minded.

It was a bit early, being only eight o'clock, when Neal started to fall asleep on the couch. Peter and El noticed, and El took a picture of the two dozing mounds before allowing Peter to rouse his partner.

"Hey, Bud….Neal," he called softly. The kid blearily blinked his eyes open.

"Mmmm, P'tr?" Peter bit back a laugh at how much like a tired five year his partner looked.

"Yeah, Bud. C'mon. Let's get you upstairs." Neal groaned and turned his face into the pillow he was using.

"Tirrreeed." El giggled quietly and shooed an equally grumpy Satchmo off of Neal.

"We know, Honey. But we want you to sleep in an actual bed, not on the couch." Neal sighed heavily into the cushion, sounding very put upon. He didn't move or make another sound for a solid five seconds, until he finally slid to the ground and shakily stood. Peter threw out a hand to keep Neal steady when he started to tip over. Once completely upright, Neal nodded sharply, his eyes barely open.

"M'Kay. Let's go." Peter shook his head and laughed.

"We should video tape this, for posterity. 'The Great Neal Caffrey, 26 Going on 6'." Neal didn't seem to think the joke as funny as the married couple did and pouted as the agent guided him up the stairs and down the hall to the guest bedroom.

"Blackmails, s'not funny, Peter. 'S mean." Peter couldn't help chuckling again, but patted Neal's back reassuringly.

"Trust me, Bud, I've already got plenty on you." El walked past the two and turned down the sheet she had washed yesterday afternoon.

"Neal, Sweetie, I grabbed some clothes for you. They're in the top two drawers. I made sure to pick up some of your pajamas. Your toiletries are already in the bathroom." Neal smiled sleepily and grabbed what he wanted to wear. He didn't recognize any of it, but it was comfortable, and that was all he cared about at that moment.

Neal was a little more awake when he came back from the bathroom where he had changed and brushed his teeth. He was surprised to find El and Peter still in his bedroom. None of them seemed to know what to say, so Neal simply got under the covers. El took over and pulled them up to his chin. She brushed his hair back from his forehead as he eyelids fell shut.

Suddenly, the door swung wide open, and Satchmo lumbered in. He completely ignored his owners, jumped up on the bed and settled with a satisfied groan against Neal's back, head on the other pillow. Peter narrowed his eyes at his pet.

"Traitor," he whispered. The dog gave him an unimpressed look, and then promptly fell asleep. Peter looked at his wife and found her covering her mouth and shaking. The agent was at first concerned, until he saw that El was trying her hardest not to laugh. Peter's lips twitched up, and he shook his head in fond exasperation. He held a hand out to his wife, and the two of them shut the door quietly behind them.

* * *

 _"She's not good for you, Neal. Just forget her."_

 _"Suit...Mrs. Suit."_

 _"These suits belonged to my late husband Byron."_

 _"Moz, I've got an idea."_

 _"Kate, I love you."_

 _"Peter!"_

Neal sat up so fast, he immediately fell back on his pillow, head reeling. He struggled to slow his racing heart and calm his breathing. Sweat cooled uncomfortably on his skin and made his shirt stick to his chest. The young man turned his head and saw Satchmo still happily snoring on his own pillow.

He brought a hand up and rubbed roughly at his eyes, hoping to bring back whatever images had made him feel so…so overwhelmed. When that failed - _again -_ Neal's eyes drifted over to the digital clock on the nightstand. It happily told him it was 5:48 in the morning. Neal couldn't help the amused huff. That actually wasn't as bad as he was expecting, however there was no way he was getting back to sleep anytime soon.

Neal tried sitting up again, slower this time, and succeeded. He slid his legs out of bed and hissed at the cold floor under his feet. Pushing past the discomfort, Neal got up and crossed to the drawers containing his clothes. The young man changed into jeans and a t-shirt and left his pajamas folded on the bed. Neal paused to look at them. They were neater than he'd ever been able to fold clothes. Shaking his head, Neal quietly opened the door to his room and crept out.

It was quite a trek to get down the stairs, as Neal wasn't yet familiar with which stairs squeaked and he didn't want to wake the Burkes. After poking around for a couple minutes, Neal finally found his shoes and slid them on. He was surprised to find that the house of an FBI agent didn't have an alarm system, but it made things much easier for him. As Neal flipped the lock on the front door, he heard a noise and turned around. Satchmo was standing at the top of the stairs, lazily wagging his tail. The dog whined quietly.

"Shhh, Boy. I'll be back." Before Satch could bark or come thumping down the stairs, Neal opened the door and slipped out.

A slight chill still lingered in the air despite being almost June, but it was sure to get much warmer soon. Neal took a moment to look around the street and then picked a direction. He didn't remember too much from his first walk through the city streets, which was years ago in reality. However, the young man figured it wouldn't be too hard to find his way back to the Burkes' place.

Meanwhile, said couple was sound asleep back in their bed. Nothing, no great sound woke them from their slumber and so they slept on…until nearly 8 o'clock.

Peter blinked his eyes open and frowned at not seeing El sleeping across from him. He stretched and rolled over to see the clock. The agent was surprised at the time, but after remembering how exhausting the past two days had been, it quickly passed. El must be downstairs eating breakfast before work. _At least she gets to go to work,_ Peter thought grumpily before getting up out of bed.

Looking down the hall, Peter saw the door to the guest room was wide open, and Neal wasn't in bed. The agent assumed his partner was downstairs with his wife and headed that way. A smile played on his face as passed the front door, patted Satchmo on the head and saw his wife at the table. El smiled up at him from her bowl of oatmeal and glanced behind him.

"Hon, didn't you wake Neal up? I figured he'd need some of those antibiotics at this point. The 12 hour one?" Peter nodded absently at the mention of the antibiotics he had picked up along with Neal's pain meds and a knot in his gut started to grow.

"He's…he's not down here with you?" El's face froze.

"No. I thought he was still…sleeping." Both of them jumped up and rushed upstairs. Peter checked the bathroom, while El hurried to the guest room. They each stepped back out with identical worried expressions. Suddenly, Satchmo barked form downstairs. Peter and Elizabeth stood at the top of the stairs and watched Satch hop and wiggle by the front door. When he saw them standing there, he barked again, scratched at the door and wiggled harder.

Peter looked over to the corner where El had put Neal's shoes and saw they were gone. His eyes narrowed, the knot in his gut starting to churn in a growing anger.

"His shoes are gone," he muttered.

"His pajamas were left folded on the bed," El whispered. Peter's jaw clenched and he nodded sharply once. He turned back to his bedroom and got changed.

"Peter, what are you doing?" The agent didn't look up, trying to control his anger.

"Neal left." Peter slammed his feet into some sneakers.

"Left? But…why would he do that?" Peter took a deep breath and put his hands on his wife's shoulders.

"I don't know but I'm going to go find him." El still looked confused and hurt, but shook her head to clear it.

"Peter-" El's husband kissed her on the cheek and started down the stairs.

"I'm going to bring him back, and then…then I'm going to yell at him."

"Peter-" He grabbed his keys and his phone and turned the door knob.

"Don't tell me that's mean, El. Neal left the safety of our home and is wandering the streets doing God knows what. I don't even know which way to look-"

"Peter!" The agent jumped and snapped his mouth closed at the irritation coming off of his wife in waves. El pointed at his phone. "Neal's got his anklet on. Just look it up." Peter looked down at the device in his hand and nodded, embarrassed he hadn't thought of that.

"Why aren't you the FBI agent again?" El snorted fondly and hugged her husband.

"You are a fantastic agent, Hon. You just get a little…blinded when it comes to Neal." Peter couldn't agree with her more. Satchmo whined at their feet, making them break apart.

"Right, Buddy. I'll go bring him home." Peter kissed his wife on the cheek one more time and opened the front door.

"Shouldn't you call the Director or someone about this?" Peter paused.

"If I can't find him in thirty minutes. I don't want the Marshals getting wind of this and then running out after Neal, guns blazing. The kid's probably just…wandering about. Besides, I haven't gotten a call which means he's still in his radius." El nodded, but her face was bleeding with worry.

"Just…bring him home. I'll stay here in case he comes back. What's another day from work? It's not like I don't own the business." Peter couldn't help but chuckle, and he finally stepped out the door. He pulled his phone out and pulled up Neal's tracking information.

The map showed him the route Neal had taken in the past twenty-four hours. Peter's brow's furrowed as they showed a rough circle out all the way to the boundaries of the tracker.…like the kid was trying to test his limits. Pulling up Neal's current location, Peter breathed out a sigh of relief that his partner was in a park, only a ten minute walk from his house.

Not even bothering with his car, Peter quickly turned tail and jogged down the block. He really didn't know why Neal had left, but the kid was sure in for an earful when Peter got a hold of him. Just thinking of what could have happened to his partner wandering around a city he doesn't remember with a professional killer after him made Peter jog that much faster.

He got to the park in record time and walked closer to the blinking dot. Peter whipped his head back and forth trying to spot Neal.

Suddenly, he was tackled.

* * *

 **Oooo, what is Neal up to? And what happened to Peter?! Stay tuned to find out. ;) And yes the italicized part is from a dream/nightmare Neal was having.**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 14

 **Please be aware: I WILL BE IN EUROPE FOR THE NEXT COUPLE WEEKS WITH NO WIFI. I WON'T BE UPDATING BUT I WILL BE WRITING. YOU CAN EXPECT UPDATES NEAR THE END OF JANUARY!**

 **I would like to give some credit to zoeperia for inspiring me to put Mozzie in this chapter. That was not going to be the original plan.**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Home**

Peter was able to keep his footing under the assault, but he was more than a little surprised when the person didn't immediately let go of him.

"Peter!" The yell was muffled against his shoulder. The agent finally got his bearings and looked to find Neal wrapped around him like an octopus. His arms came up and he pushed Neal back, but kept a strong grip on the kid's shoulders.

"Neal! What the hell were you thinking running off like that?! Do you know how worried El and I were? You could have been hurt, or worse, killed! Did you even think before you ran out the door?! El stayed home from work in case you came back. We were scared out of our minds when we couldn't find you!" Peter was so into his rant that he didn't immediately notice how Neal sort of collapsed in on himself. The young man was shaking and tears began to well in his blue eyes.

"I- I'm sorry, Peter." The scared voice was what finally snapped the FBI agent out of his righteous anger. He sighed and instantly felt ashamed for his behavior. Peter pulled Neal close and wrapped his partner in an embrace.

"I'm sorry too, Bud. But you really scared me. What were you thinking? Running away? You've got a killer after you." Neal tensed when Peter first hugged him, but quickly relaxed and even tucked his face into Peter's neck.

"I didn't run away. I…I had another nightmare, and I couldn't get back to sleep. I didn't want to bug you or Elizabeth. I just wanted to go for a walk, and then my anklet kept beeping and I got turned around and…" Neal's breathing had picked up and gone ragged. Peter rubbed a hand up and down his back, completely ignoring any odd looks they got. It wasn't many; they were in New York City after all. "Peter…I just want to go home."

When his partner practically cried those words into his neck, Peter completely melted. Neal was little more than a scared, emotionally charged 'teenager' that had gotten lost in a strange city. Not to mention this whole ordeal probably left him with a massive headache. He patted Neal's back once more and pulled back.

"Yeah, Bud. Let's go home."

Peter kept Neal close by leaving an arm around the young man's shoulders as they walked. The agent tapped out a quick text to El to let her know that he had found their runaway charge.

Neal didn't mind the closeness. In fact, he used the arm over him as an excuse to walk as close to the agent as possible. He truly had been on the verge of a panic attack before he had seen Peter. When he realized he was lost and hadn't bothered to take note of the street the Burkes lived on, Neal panicked and just…picked a direction. He ran into a couple of rude people who yelled at him, and then almost got picked up by what he thinks was a pimp. Neal ran off before the guy could back him into an alley, and he only got more lost. Just the thought of that creep made him shudder.

"You okay, Bud? Are you cold? It's almost 75 degrees out already." Peter unconsciously rubbed a hand up and down Neal's arm.

"Uh, no. Not cold, just…thanks for finding me." Peter nodded, a concerned look on his face.

"Yeah, Bud. Sure thing." They walked in comfortable silence the rest of the way, which wasn't far. When they got to the steps of Peter's home, Neal stopped and looked up at the door with apprehension.

"What is it, Neal?" Neal rubbed the back of his head.

"How…how mad is El?" Peter snorted and grabbed Neal's wrist, pulling him to the front door.

"She's not mad, Neal. And for the record, neither am I. We were both just very worried." Neal could only take his word for it, as he was practically dragged into the house before he could say anything. He was glad to no longer be lost in the streets of New York, but, like Peter, he was surprised to find that El was not alone.

"Mozzie? What are you doing here?" Neal's brows drew together at hearing such a weird name before the familiarity struck him. Peter had told him that one of his friends was named, or at least called, Mozzie. Said man stood at the same time as El rushed forward to envelope Neal in a hug.

"Suit. I happened to be walking this way when Mrs. Suit called me to tell me Neal had run off. She was hoping I could help find him, but as soon as I showed up, she got your text." El pulled back enough to lay a hand on the side of Neal's face.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're okay. But, Neal! Why did you run off?!" Neal blushed, making Mozzie's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He hadn't seen Neal blush since the first week they had known each other.

"I couldn't sleep and went for a walk. I was gonna come back, but…I got lost. I'm really sorry." El sighed and rolled her eyes skyward in fond exasperation before hugging him again.

"Well, you're back, and you're okay. That's all I really care about."

"You just decided to wander around a city you don't remember with a professional killer after you!? And I thought you were crazy making a deal with the Feds!" Neal was surprised by the funny looking man's outburst. The young man suddenly felt the full weight of his actions.

"I…I guess I just…didn't think about it. That was really stupid of me." The sudden urge to cry was so strong that Neal stared at the ground and bit the inside of his cheek. It was just so strange and novel to have people who actually cared about him and worried about whether he would come back. He felt like he had let them down and mocked all of their efforts to keep him safe.

"Hey, the Neal Caffrey I know is _not_ stupid. He's just…got some impulse control issues." Peter snorted at Mozzie's words and nodded.

"You can say that again." El rubbed Neal's back comfortingly. Her eyes flicked to Mozz and saw how he shifted from foot to foot while looking between Peter and Neal. Taking the hints, she smiled at Neal.

"Sweetie, why don't you come with me to the kitchen. You need to take some pills, and I bet you are hungry." Neal didn't pick up on his friend's body language and just nodded and went along with El.

"Right, well I better get going." Neal paused by the other con.

"It- it was nice to meet you. Sorry that I don't remember." Mozzie gave him a smile and sharp nod, before El led the young man off. Once they were around the corner, Mozz motioned Peter over to the door.

"What is it, Haversham? You're acting more twitchy than usual." Mozzie rolled his eyes at the agent.

"Listen, I've been asking around…you know, with my people. A few of them have heard wind that a Big Bad is in town, but no one's laid eyes on the guy." Peter's hands settled on his hips.

"Big Bad?" Mozzie nodded; his eyes kept on the lookout for anyone listening in.

"A professional. A _good_ professional. One with a lot of agencies after them but no arrests. They are also well known for finishing a job…no matter what."

"I'll keep Neal safe, Mozz. Jones, Diana and the Director are on this. But, Mozzie, I need you to be careful. Don't dig too deep for this guy, and keep your eyes open. There are a couple of Marshals on this case too, not too friendly." The conman snorted.

"Please. I am used to unfriendly Suits. It is you, who is the enigma." And with that, Mozzie slipped out the front door, leaving Peter shaking his head. The agent walked into the kitchen and was amused to find El putting Neal to work emptying the dishwasher. Neal's face told Peter the kid wasn't happy.

"I make him uncomfortable don't I? Because I don't remember him." Peter raised a brow.

"Mozzie? Bud, he's always like that. He's paranoid and always on edge…unless he's got a couple bottles of fancy wine in him." El giggled and smiled at her two boys. She looked at the clock and sighed.

"Well, Boys, I've got to get in to work at some time. Now that I know Neal's okay and safe, I'll just go ahead and leave." El went in for a hug as soon as Neal put his last plate away.

"I'm really sorry for making you late, Mrs. Burke. Just tell your boss it's my fault." El laughed and patted Neal on the cheek.

"Sweetie, I _am_ the boss. There's nothing to apologize for, just don't go running off like that again." Neal was shocked for a moment, before he relaxed into a sheepish smile and nodded. El smiled brightly back. "Good." She kissed Peter on the cheek and was out the door a few seconds later. The house felt unusually relaxed as soon as Mrs. Burke left, but Satchmo quickly ramped up the excitement once more.

There was a sudden thundering coming from the stairs that sounded like someone had rolled twelve bricks down them. The yellow lab galloped around the corner into the kitchen and barked happily at finding Neal standing there. The young man smiled down at the wiggling dog and knelt to scratch his ears.

"Hey, Satch! Where were you? You just realized I got back?" Peter snorted and went about fixing himself a bowl of cereal.

"More like he went to have a short pity party nap on my bed. He was really upset earlier and practically pushed me out the door to go get you, with El's help of course." Neal's chest felt warm at hearing that, and he stayed on the floor with the dog.

They stayed in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just relaxing from the morning's tension. Peter finished off his cereal and when he was rinsing out the bowl, he saw Neal's antibiotics over on the counter. Before he could ask if El had Neal take his pills, his work cell rang.

"Burke." Peter really hoped that his agents had found something.

"Peter, we found something." The senior agent gave a mental fist pump. "But I can't tell you over the phone. Can Jones and I stop by your place?" Peter was suddenly greatly concerned.

"Yeah, come on by. El just left for work, and Neal and I are just hanging out. Is everything alright over there?" Diana didn't answer right away, but before Peter could ask again, she replied.

"We'd just rather discuss this with you and Neal in person, and there are a couple of open ears around here that don't need to be involved." Neal was watching Peter out of the corner of his eye and was worried about what he was hearing. It sounded very much like Peter's agents had found something that was…dangerous? Peter hung up after a few more confirmations and stared at his phone, lost in thought.

Neal focussed back on Satchmo who had picked up on the tension. The dog whined and scooted closer until he was practically sitting on the young man. Neal wrapped his arms around the dog and buried his face in his golden fur. He took a few deep breaths and was suddenly hit by a strong wall of deja vu. This was _not_ the first time he had been at this house. He was familiar with the smell of Satchmo and the comfortable home. He remembered that he had been here before!

Elation bubbled up in Neal's chest, but when he turned to tell Peter the good news, the older man's concerned face discouraged him. The fact that Neal felt something _familiar_ about the Burke home and Satchmo really didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't important. Peter wanted him to remember who had shot him. The smile on the young man's face slipped off, and he went back to dejectedly petting Satchmo.

A few minutes later, not that either Peter or Neal were paying attention to the time, there was an eager knock at the door. Peter, still feeling wary, told Neal to stay where he was while he cautiously went to answer the door. As soon as he saw who it was he relaxed a bit, called for Neal and opened the door.

"Come in." Once the door was closed behind him and his guests, he moved to sit on the couch by Neal. "Who were you guys worried about listening in?" Jones set down some files and other important documents on the coffee table between all of them. Satchmo sniffed all over them before deeming them safe and turning back to Neal's attentions.

"Well, we've been doing a lot of digging into Neal's files with Witness Protection. Neal, one of the Marshals that was assigned to look after you was fired only a week after you ran away. Jackson Derk." Neal face completely morphed with his shock.

"You mean…someone actually said something and- and he got punished?" The young man was honestly stunned, but then his eyes narrowed as he thought deeper. "You guys think he did this, don't you? Because he got fired." Neal gestured to the stitches near his temple. "It's been ten years though…apparently." Peter laid a hand on Neal's shoulder and squeezed. Diana tilted her head in acknowledgement.

"You're right. It's been a long time. However, after he got fired, he went off the grid. We contacted next of kin and they didn't know anything about where to find him. Turns out they were happy to wash their hands of him once it came out that he got fired for abusing one of his charges, and a minor no less. But…we also found out that we know his nephew." It was Peter's turn to be shocked.

"What? Who?" Jones opened the top file, revealing the man's picture.

"Marshal Roberts."

* * *

 **Some credit again to zoeperia for Neal not telling when he's starting to feel better/remember. I kind of already had it planned but, hey, great minds like alike right?**

 **See you in a few weeks! :)**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	15. Chapter 15

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 15

 **I'm baaaack! And just in time to be buried under 2 feet of snow...oh well. It's good writing weather. PLEASE READ THE NOTES THEY ARE HERE FOR A REASON: YES I PLAN ON FINISHING THE STORY. I PROMISE THIS EVERY TIME I START PUBLISHING A STORY! Rant over. :)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Trust**

If Peter was being honest with himself, he did not see that coming at all. Neither did Neal for that matter. The kid seemed to completely shut down when Jones revealed the nephew of his abuser. Deciding to give his partner space, Peter focused on his two junior agents.

"Can I assume that Director Hughes knows about this?" Diana nodded.

"We informed him yesterday after we found out. He got us the necessary files, and we went over them before coming here." Diana indicated the top two files in the pile they had brought. "Roberts is related to Derk on his mother's side. The mother lost track of her brother after he got fired, but she wasn't too concerned. One of the other Marshals told her what he had done to Neal, and she wanted nothing more to do with him." Jones flipped open the file on Marshal Roberts.

"All in all, nothing really stuck out. Marshal Roberts was in the top ten percent in the academy and got in relatively easily. He's worked with Marshal Smith for four years now. There's been a couple of dressing downs in his career, mostly for his use of aggressive force with suspects." The agent's eyes flicked to Neal, but the young man was still gone in his head. "Beyond that, he does his job, and seems to do it well."

"Sounds like aggression runs in the family," Peter muttered. "When are you going to talk to him?" Diana and Jones looked at each other.

"We figured right after we finished filling you in. We wanted to warn you both ahead of time, without tipping Marshal Roberts off." Out of nowhere Neal began shaking his head. He looked restless and jittery. His blue eyes darted everywhere as if looking for an exit.

"You can't know that it was _him_. Just because…just because he has motive doesn't mean it's him! How would he even know that it's me? How do _you_ know that I was even the target?!" As Peter worked to calm the young man down, something in Neal's words struck him.

"Have either of you looked into Johnson's enemies?" Jones's brows furrowed.

"Johnson? No. We just closed that case and focussed on…. _Neal's_ shooter." It hit Jones and Diana at the same time. What if Neal was right? What if _he_ wasn't the target…someone else was, and he just got in the way. Peter came to a decision and hoped he was right.

"Put off questioning Marshal Roberts and focus on finding out who would want Johnson dead, besides all the people he ripped off. Look for someone who can hire a professional." Diana and Jones nodded, and quickly gathered all of their stuff and left.

Neal's breathing had calmed at least, but his muscles still felt coiled tight under Peter's hand.

"Do you," Neal paused, his tone of voice telling Peter that he was scared. "Do you think he knows about me? Marshal Roberts, I mean." This one Peter could easily answer.

"No. He would have been more pointedly mad at you or avoided you all together if he knew that his uncle had hurt you. His aggression is more generalized and of the playground bully variety." Neal forced himself to be convinced by Peter's words just so he could relax a bit.

"What were you and Mozzie talking about?" Peter's brows pulled together as his brain had to do a complete 180 to find that information. When he did, he tried to stall.

"What do you mean? You were there, remember?" Neal rolled his eyes so hard it gave him a small headache.

"I've got amnesia, and like you said earlier, I'm not stupid. You two talked about something when El pulled me to the kitchen…which I fully believe was on purpose." The young man narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and Peter got defensive.

"I am fully aware you aren't stupid, Neal, but as _you_ pointed out, you are also not on your A game at the moment. You're hurt, Neal, and as your friends we want to keep you safe. He and I just…traded some information. It was a mutually beneficial transaction." Peter grimaced at his own wording but shook it off when he noticed that Neal was still not pleased. In fact, the kid looked about ready to cry. Where did this come from?! Peter had a mini panic attack, wishing El were there to guide him.

"I'm putting all of you in danger, aren't I," Neal croaked out, his throat tight with sudden emotion. The doctor had warned him of mood swings, but he didn't think that meant he'd be crying every few hours. Be that as it may, a tear made its way free and crawled down his cheek.

"Bud-" Peter started, desperate for Neal to stop crying. "We are all fully aware of what watching you entails…" Another tear. Wobbly lip. Wrong words! "We care about you, Neal, and I can't tell you how many times you have put yourself on the line for all of us. The 'full memory intact' you might think of this as us simply protecting FBI assets or paying you back for all of those times, but this is none of that. We are protecting you of our own free will and with genuine care, just like you did for us." Neal had stopped almost-crying and wiped at his eyes as his let out a watery chuckle.

"You just did a great job of not actually answering my question….but thanks." Neal smiled at Peter, and he honestly felt cared for-loved? wanted?- for the first time in his life. Of course his growling stomach had to break the moment. Peter, confused, used a hand to turn Neal's face toward him.

"Didn't El make you eat and take your antibiotics?" Neal's cheeks grew red.

"I- uh…felt bad about this morning, so I offered to empty the dishwasher and then you came back and then El left and I wasn't really hungry and then the rest happened." The young man gestured to the door, meaning Jones and Diana arriving, and Peter sighed.

"Well come on. You really need to take your antibiotics, and I know El isn't going to be happy when she realizes what you did." Neal looked down in shame, as Peter hauled him up and guided him over to the kitchen. After seating Neal at the counter, he opened the fridge and pulled out some leftovers. Neal's stomach was growling like a wolf by the time Peter set food down in front of him. While the young man began scarfing it down, Peter got him a glass of water and set his pills in front of him.

"Whoa, Bud. Calm down. It's not going anywhere." Neal froze for a second, before resuming eating at a more reasonable speed. Peter smirked fondly. "How's the head feeling?" Neal swallowed before pausing, then shrugged.

"Kind of a dull ache right now. I don't need any pain pills, if that's what you mean." Neal took a moment to swallow his antibiotics, before he proceeded to clean his plate. Peter's jaw dropped when Neal suddenly ran his finger through the sauce left and promptly licked the appendage clean. Neal saw his expression and looked at him like he'd grown a second head.

"What?" Peter tried to push words from his mouth, but none came. He settled from leaning back and shrugging.

"It's just…you are very different." He could tell that his comment distressed his friend. "Not in a bad way. In fact you seem more…I don't know, human? You were so polite and never dropped anything or tripped over anything. You could woo anyone and would, just to prove a point. It didn't seem like you could be real." Neal's brows drew together and he frowned.

"Di…Did you just call me a slut?" Peter barked out a laugh, but vehemently shook his head.

"Some might have gotten that impression, but I knew that wasn't the case. You just knew how to use your looks and charm to get what you needed, be it information or access to someplace you shouldn't be going in to. It took a special woman to actually get you to stay once you got what you needed." His young friend grimaced.

"That doesn't make me sound like a nice person." Peter sighed. He really wished El was there.

"Neal, you have a heart of gold. You have since long before I met you, and it only became more evident the longer I spent time with you. You didn't make great choices, not even when we worked together, but everything you did was with your best intentions. You never set out to hurt people, Neal. You are just brilliant at being whatever anyone wants you to be." Neal picked at the edge of the counter with his thumb nail, not looking at the agent. Eventually, he muttered something to the counter.

"What was that, Neal?" Neal finally looked up and gave him a grateful smile, his cheeks tinged a light pink.

"I said that that's probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Peter felt his heart crack a little for his friend. Before any difficult emotions could truly bubble up, the agent cleared his throat.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to work on that." Neal fully blushed and covered his face with his hands.

"Peterrrrr," he whined. Said man barked out a laugh at his friend's childish actions and shook his head. The kid really was…well…a _kid_. They sat together for a few more minutes, just enjoying the calm, when Peter noticed the bruising under Neal's eyes. He squeezed his partner's shoulder.

"Hey, Bud. You look tired. Why don't you take a nap? I'll hold the fort down here." Neal's brows bunched together again.

"What are we holding the fort for? I thought we were just sitting here doing nothing." Peter was at a loss for how to answer, when he saw the twitch of Neal's lips. The older man narrowed his eyes in mock anger but couldn't hide the smile coming through.

"That's enough cheek out of you, young man. Go on, get up to bed." Neal rolled his eyes with a smile on his face and went without further argument. He was tired to be honest. A nap sounded really good to him, and he needed the time to process what he had just learned about the whole professional killer situation.

Satchmo, who was laying at the bottom of the stairs, looked up at Neal as he passed with pitiful brown eyes. The young man stopped halfway up the stairs and sighed.

"C'mon then." The dog popped up immediately and bounded ahead of him and into his room. By the time Neal got there, Satchmo had already claimed half the bed and was thinking about stretching out more. "Oh no you don't!" Neal skipped over and jumped on the bed before his furry friend made his move and claimed sufficient space for himself.

The young man couldn't help the childish giggle escaping from his lips and relaxed into the mattress. In a matter of moments, he was asleep.

* * *

Neal woke with a start two hours later. His heart was pounding and flames burned behind his eyelids. One name resounded in his head and wrenched at something he didn't understand in his chest.

 _Kate_.

The young man covered his face with his hands, but pulled them away when he felt water on his cheeks. He had been crying. The woman from his dream was beautiful. Her looks reminded him of El, but he certainly hadn't felt the same way about this Kate as he did El. After barely a day and a half with Elizabeth Burke, Neal already saw her as more of a mother than his own. _Kate,_ however, left the distinct space of a lover in her absence. Neal didn't understand the betrayal and guilt simmering under the surface of loss in his dream…but one thing was for certain. He remembered Kate.

Neal sat up and instinctively reached for Satchmo. The dog had rolled closer to him and grumbled happily when Neal sunk his fingers into his golden fur. Though the retriever was a great comfort, Neal felt the urge to talk to Peter. Something told him that Peter could explain how he was feeling. The question would be whether or not the agent would actually answer his questions. The older man seemed to be under the impression that Neal needed to let the memories come back naturally.

Whether he would get answers or not, Neal wanted to just be in the agent's presence. The man was calming in his own way, a rock in the storm conjured by Neal's mind. Not that Neal would tell the man that. Peter seemed to be uncomfortable with any kind go emotion. Fluffy, comforting words were not his thing.

As he walked quietly down the hallway and to the top of the stairs, Satchmo followed him. Neal heard Peter talking to someone and guessed that he was on the phone. Not wanting to disturb the man, Neal crept as silently as he could down the stairs.

"He's dead!?" Neal froze. Ice ran through his veins at Peter's exclamation, and he couldn't find the strength in himself to move. "How? He was in our custody!" There was silence for a moment, where Peter listened to the explanation he had demanded. Apparently he wasn't satisfied.

"I want to know who was watching his cell, and I want to know how that SOB got to him. What?" Peter was up and pacing now. "No, no. I'm not going to tell Neal." Said man's jaw dropped. Something major had happened, someone had _died_ , and Peter wasn't going to tell him? Without a second thought, he turned around and walked right back to the guest room. He didn't hear what Peter said next.

"It'll only scare him. He's…he doesn't need that right now. I just want him to feel safe."

* * *

 **Ooooo! Neal remembers something! And of course it has to be freaking Kate. -_- Grrr.**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	16. Chapter 16

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 16

 **Wow my brain hurts. Spring semester isn't nice. :(**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **The Van**

Neal's mind was reeling. He couldn't stop thinking about what he had hear, and he came to only one explanation: Peter didn't trust him.

"I should have known," Neal hissed to himself. A con artist and a FBI agent, friends? Neal must really have been starved for affection to buy that one. The weird thing was, in the back of his mind, Neal couldn't help but feel that he was wrong. Something kept poking him saying that Peter's just trying to protect him, but Neal shoved that little voice down.

No. He had heard how Agent Burke deals with new information. The more likely scenario in all of this was that Peter was just trying to warm him up…to make him feel safe until he spilled all of his secrets.

Neal rolled over onto his side with a growl and glared at the wall. He couldn't believe how stupid he was to think that an agent or officer of the law would actually care about him. The young man continued to lay on the bed and stew in his angry thoughts for a few minutes. He didn't know how much time had past before he heard Peter coming down the hall towards the bedroom. Neal heard the door open, but pretended to be asleep.

"Neal? Bud?" The young man felt guilt bubble up when the agent sighed, but quickly tamped it down. "I know you're not sleeping, Neal." The blue-eyed man froze and stopped breathing for a second. How- "You tensed when I came in. Come on. Sit up and talk to me." Neal reluctantly sat up and turned towards Peter, but kept his knees up as a shield between them. He glared openly at the agent, and Peter was a bit shocked to say the least.

"Neal?" The young man pursed his lips and blew air harshly out of his nose before replying.

"What did I do to make you not trust me? Was it my walk this morning, because I said I was sorry!" Neal nearly turned red at the hurt that bled through his voice. He had intended to sound indifferent and in control, but now he had given away just what Peter's words had done to him.

"Where is this coming from? Why do you think I don't trust you?" Peter could only assume Neal had remembered a memory of one of their fights about trust, of which there had been many, or the kid had had a dream that painted Peter in a bad light. That was all he could think of. Neal's eyes flashed again and this time he spit his words.

"Who. Died?" Understanding clicked in Peter's head, and he sighed deeply, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand down his face.

"Bud…did you listen in on the _whole_ conversation or did you leave before I was done?" Neal's jaw dropped open and he sat there imitating a fish for a few moments, before pulling himself together.

"I- I heard enough to know-"

"You heard enough to know that someone was killed, and I didn't intend to tell you," Peter interrupted. He felt himself going into full parent mode, though he had never had children. Then again, that tended to be his usual response to Neal's antics. It seemed amnesia didn't change the kid's habits completely.

Feeling scolded and embarrassed but still hurt, Neal turned slightly pink and nodded slowly. The agent then came over and sat on the edge of the bed by Neal's feet. Satchmo groaned at the bed shifting and rolled over to watch the proceedings.

"Well, if you had stayed, you would have heard me tell Jones that I didn't want to tell you…because I didn't want to scare you." Neal's head whipped up (which wasn't a good idea if the headache was anything to go by) and his eyes widened.

"Scare me? How…I was right, wasn't I?" A stone settled deep in Neal's stomach as Peter's silence was all the confirmation he needed. The agent, however, decided to confirm verbally after a few moments of tense silence.

"Yes. The target of our operation the day you got hurt, was killed half an hour ago in his holding cell." Neal didn't know this person. He didn't remember anything about the operation where he got hurt. He didn't even remember _getting shot_ ….but ice settled in his veins as Peter explained what had happened. It was as if…the whole situation was finally real. He didn't need to remember the operation or getting hurt, because now the threat was present, _his_ reality, not the old Neal's.

An inappropriate bubble of laughter escaped Neal just then.

"There's no chance the shooter is done with his job and will just go home now, right?" Peter was concerned at his partner's laughter, correctly seeing it as a sign of an impending breakdown. He was unsure how to counteract it though and hesitated in acting. "Because you know, that would just make my day. He could just say, 'Job done,' and leave. I'd let him. What's the point of coming after me, anyway? I've got amnesia. I can't tell people what he looks like. Oh, but he probably doesn't know that I have amnesia. Oh, that makes sense. Oh…" Neal's eyes started misting over, and Peter felt about ready to have a panic attack.

He tried to channel El and did the first thing that came to mind. Peter wrapped Neal up in a big hug and started rocking gently back and forth. The young man froze in his embrace and Peter cursed in his head, certain he had just screwed up. However, the next second Neal unwound and melted into Peter's chest. The kid dug his forehead into Peter's collarbone and groaned.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "For…being stupid and…all the _crying_. I feel like a PMSing thirteen year old." Peter couldn't help the bark of laughter and rubbed his hands up and down Neal's back.

"Don't let El hear you say that." They stayed like that for another couple of minutes before eventually pulling apart. Both men looked at the ground unsure what to say. Finally, Peter cleared his throat.

"Well, I was coming up here because I didn't want you to sleep too long. Let's head downstairs. We need to go over some new safety measures and clear up the old ones." Neal nodded and followed Peter out of the room. There was a groan and thump behind them, and Neal turned to see Satchmo lumbering after them.

Peter grabbed a couple of sodas for them from the fridge, and they settled on the couch. Neal leaned back against the arm and tucked his feet under the middle cushion. He cradled the soda can on his stomach, and the whole image was so childish, Peter almost wanted to take a picture for the future. He could only imagine Neal's reaction to such a photo when he had all of his memories back.

The agent opened his mouth to start going over the security changes with his partner, when his eyes caught something.

"Neal, what that on your arm?" He pointed to a dark patch on Neal's upper right arm. The kid's brows scrunched together and he pushed his sleeve up to get a better look at whatever Peter was talking about. Peter bit his tongue to hold in a gasp at the bruises he saw ringing his partner's arm.

His first thought was that it had been him, when he had grabbed the kid in the park, but he distinctly remembered grabbing his shoulders. Someone had grabbed Neal hard enough to leave bruises. Peter's hand reached forward without his permission, and he ran his thumb over the marks.

"Who. Did. This?" Neal was shocked at the rage in Peter's voice. To be honest it scared him, especially with the agent looming over him and pressing on bruises. The young man wasn't sure he wanted to admit what had happened. It was embarrassing and made him feel gross. Peter's eyes suddenly flicked up and locked with his and Neal could see Peter's fierce determination to protect him. "Neal. Tell me."

"I-" Neal decided to tell him, but he was not looking forward to the agent's reaction. "When I was lost, I ran into this guy. He started…asking me things, like my name, how old I was, why I was in town. He made me uncomfortable. It got twenty times worse when he offered me a…. _job_." Neal said the word with such distaste, Peter knew right away what kind of 'job' the man was talking about. "I said no way, but when I tried to leave he grabbed my arm. He started yelling and calling me names. I freaked out and yanked my arm away and ran until my tracker started beeping. Then I turned a different way and kept going."

Peter had to close his eyes and take deep breaths to stop himself from going out and finding the creep. When he felt in control enough, he opened his eyes again and moved his hand up to the side of Neal's neck. The agent almost winced when he saw the scared look in Neal's eyes.

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Bud, and I'm glad you're okay." Neal nodded slowly.

"You're…you're not going to go out and do something stupid are you?" Peter reared back, shocked that _that_ was what Neal was concerned about. Then Peter narrowed his eyes.

"That's my line. Though usually I just say, 'Neal, don't do anything stupid.'" The young man snorted and leaned further into the couch. The two of them sat together in comfortable silence, each taking the time to open their sodas and drink some.

Neal sighed in his temporary contentment. Finally, unable to take the quiet any longer, he spoke.

"So…weren't there some new and old safety measures that we needed to go over or something?" Peter was a little surprised that Neal wanted to talk about them, figuring he'd rather rip his ears off, but then realized the kid must be more scared about the whole situation than he let on.

"Yeah, we do," Peter nodded. "So, what should have already been laid out is that you don't leave the house without myself or Jones or Diana. If you left with El, I'd have to go with you." Neal nodded his understanding.

"Yeah. Learned that one. I definitely won't be doing that again." Peter snorted and nodded.

"Good, because now you're not allowed to leave the house _period._ " Neal's jaw dropped.

"What?! Come on! I'll go nuts if I have to stay in your house for however long it takes for you to catch this guy." There was a distinct whiny edge to Neal's tone, but he didn't care. He could _not_ stay cooped up in a house for long without going crazy.

"Neal," Peter grew serious. "We can't let you go out there while there is a killer after you. As of right now, he doesn't know where you are, and we can protect you here. If you go outside, the chances of him finding you and hurting you go up exponentially." Peter laid a hand on Neal's knee. "I know it's hard, Bud, but none of us want to see you hurt…or worse." Neal didn't respond or look up from where he was staring at the top of his soda can. The agent bit back the urge to sigh. A pouty, silent Neal was still better than one that ran off with some half-cooked plan and okay intentions. "There will also be a unit parked outside to keep an eye on things, until this is all over."

Neal mumbled something under his breath, and Peter frowned.

"What did you say, Neal?" His partner sighed and repeated himself more clearly.

"I said isn't that like saying, 'Here he is. Come get him!' ?" It took Peter a second to understand what Neal meant, but then he got it and shook his head.

"I didn't mean a unit like a marked police car. I'm talking about an inconspicuous van that will be parked a little ways down the street. There will be some agents in there twenty-four seven, keeping an eye on things." Neal's face scrunched up in disgust.

"Glad I don't have to do that. The Van stinks." Neal didn't seem to realize what he had said, but Peter froze. His eyes widened, and something akin to excitement buzzed under his skin.

"Neal, what did you say?" His partner looked at him in confusion.

"I said the Van stinks. Why are you looking at me like that?" Peter wanted to grab Neal and shake him.

"You always used to say that about the Van, Neal! Whenever I made you stay in there with me or Jones and keep watch. You've remembered something!" Neal reared back shocked. It had just slipped out. He didn't really have any memories tied to the phrase, but now that Peter mentioned it…

"Oh my…Peter!" A big smile bloomed across Neal's face. He really had remembered something! He set his soda down on the coffee table and practically threw himself across the couch at Peter. His friend caught him despite his surprise and they embraced awkwardly while laughing.

Neal pulled back and opened his mouth to tell Peter about Kate, when what felt like a stone dropped into his stomach. His good mood nearly evaporated on the spot, as he felt sudden dread about telling Peter about Kate. Neal didn't understand it, and honestly he still didn't know who Kate was…but it seemed like a bad idea.

Peter didn't notice the sudden shift and still had a dorky smile on his face. He patted Neal on the back and nearly shook with relief. The doctor had said there was a chance that Neal wouldn't get his memories back, but this was a clear sign that they were. It wasn't anything significant, but it was a start, which was all Peter had hoped for.

Neal eventually sat back and smiled back at Peter, though the young man felt it was stretched a bit tight across his face. Things had been fine and then…just why? The con didn't remember much but there was one thing that Neal knew for certain: He just wanted all of this to be over.

* * *

 **So he's remembered in front of Peter now! Wonder how long he's going to be able to keep the other stuff under wraps. We shall see. We shall see. ;)**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	17. Chapter 17

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 17

 **Pretty sure my eyeballs are bleeding and benzene rings are floating around in my brain...**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Lines Crossed**

The skin on Diana's knuckles what stretched tight as she clutched at the arms of her chair. She was trying desperately to curb the urge to leap over the table and strangle Marshal Smith. Jones and Diana were at the scene of the crime, and of course, the Marshals were there as well. Marshal Roberts seemed to have adjusted his attitude a _bit_ after getting reamed out by their boss, but Marshal Smith had no inclination to do so.

The entire time they were there, the man kept going on about how obviously the White Collar Division's "pet con" helped the assassin in some way.

"He's a world renown cat burglar, isn't he? He could have definitely helped the guy get in here or told him how to do it." Diana opened her mouth to rip the marshal to shreds, but Jones beat her to the punch.

"Neal Caffrey is under twenty-four hour observation with a severe head injury by one of our top agents _and_ he has a tracking anklet with a radius of two miles. He didn't help this guy in anyway, so how about you do some actual detecting rather than standing there throwing around a bunch of baseless accusations." Diana smirked, impressed at her friend's smack down. She also spotted a couple CSI and lower personnel struggling not to laugh. Neal was well liked, and needless to say, the Marshals weren't.

When it looked like Marshal Smith was about to start arguing, both Diana and Jones were shocked that it was Marshal Roberts to stop him.

"Smith, that's enough. There's nothing that points to Caffrey. Drop it." Diana's original assessment of the Marshal's attitude adjustment had completely changed. It _sounded_ like Marshal Roberts had done a complete 180…however, that honestly made her more suspicious than anything. She couldn't just ignore the knowledge that the man was related to the person who had hurt Neal when he was a kid. He was in the same profession no less! It all just seemed like too much of a coincidence.

Marshal Smith, meanwhile, looked like his partner had just smacked him. Diana had to bite down hard on her inner cheek to keep from giggling.

"Agents." All four of them turned when the CSI called. The blonde woman was holding a bloody slip of paper with a pair of tweezers. The Marshals and two White Collar agents walked over calmly and allowed the CSI to show them what she had found. She turned it over and held her gloved hand under it to keep it flat.

"I found this in the victim's mouth." Diana and Jones simultaneously felt bricks drop into their stomachs.

 _TELL THE KID TO KEEP HIS TRAP SHUT 'TILL I GET THERE_

The ink was smeared, and the letters were bleeding into a blur, but they were still clear enough to make out.

"Kid? He's going to kill a kid?" Diana rolled her eyes. Marshal Smith was not the brightest bulb in the box. She heard Marshal Roberts sigh.

"He means Caffrey, Smith." Jones tapped Diana's elbow.

"I'll go call Peter." She nodded to him and stayed behind in case the CSI found anything else. Neal might not have been the primary target, but he definitely was the next one.

* * *

Despite what Neal might have thought, Peter wasn't blind. It took him a little while to notice Neal's odd behavior, because he was so relieved that Neal had remembered something. However, now that they were sitting together and quietly watching the game, Peter took the time to observe his young friend.

Neal's mood was greatly deflated from his earlier happiness. In fact, Peter ran over the last hour or so, the kid had stopped being "happy" nearly right after he had remembered the van. Peter's brows drew together. Did Neal…not _want_ to remember? That didn't seem right. Maybe…A lightbulb went off over Peter's head.

Not all of Neal's memories would be good ones. His partner had more than his fair share of bad ones. The longer the thought rolled around in Peter's mind, the more he saw how much everything fit. And it would be just like Neal to remember something and not say anything about it! A scowl etched its way onto Peter's face. If the kid thought Peter wouldn't like it or would lie to him, Neal would _definitely_ not tell him if he remembered something.

Peter bit back the urge to groan. He had thought that, _that_ part of Neal came from all of their time together and Neal's years as a con artist. Apparently it was just an ingrained part of _Neal_.

Before Peter could hash out in his head how he was going to confront his friend on the matter, his work phone rang. Both men turned towards the sound and Peter picked up. He could feel Neal's eyes burning into the side of his face the whole time.

"Burke." Neal watched as Peter's face suddenly got really angry. The agent's fists clenched and he started pacing.

"What did it say?" Whatever answer he got must not have been good, because the man froze. Neal's heart was about ready to pound out of his chest. Finally, Peter took a deep breath and nodded, though the person on the other end couldn't see it.

"Ok. Jones, I want the surveillance team down the street and running in fifteen minutes. Can you send someone to pick up El and bring her home? Discreetly?" Peter nodded again, and after a few more one word responses, he hung up. Neal was nearly deaf from the blood rushing in his ears.

"Peter? What's going on?" The agent ran a hand down his face, trying to stall and calm down before he answered his friend. Peter could hear the fear in Neal's voice and it shook him as well.

"There…there was a note at the crime scene." Neal tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry.

"And? W-what did it say?" Neal wanted to run away but he didn't think his legs would be able to hold him. He had never felt this kind of fear before.

"It… _Neal-"_

"Peter, what did it say!?" They were both a little shocked by the outburst, but Neal just couldn't take any more waiting.

"It said," Peter picked up in as calm a voice he could manage, "'Tell the kid to keep his trap shut 'till I get there.'" Peter watched all of the color drain out of Neal's face and rushed forward, fearing his partner would suddenly keel over and whack his head on the coffee table. He sat next to the young man and hauled him into his side.

"Neal! Neal, what is it?" Neal didn't answer right away. His mind was stuck in his memories of being eleven years old again.

 _"Tell the kid to keep his trap shut 'till I get back," came the menacing voice over the phone._

 _"But he won't stop crying," the other Marshal whined. Neal was on the ground clutching his broken arm to his chest. He wanted his mom…no, he wanted his dad. His mom didn't care what the Marshals did to him. But his dad was a hero._

 _"Then make him_ stop _crying." The other Marshal grunted in agreement and hung up. Neal could never remember what happened next._

"Neal!" Peter's calling finally brought him out of his trance, and Neal realized he was shaking, badly. He brought his hands up to cover his face and found that his cheeks were wet. "Neal?" The young man finally looked at Peter.

"He…the Marshal who h-hurt me…the one Diana said got fired…he's said that before." Peter's eyes widened.

"You mean…?" Neal nodded and more frightened tears rolled down his cheeks.

"It's _him_. Peter, it's _HIM."_

* * *

Jones looked down at his phone and sighed. Things were never easy for Neal. The junior agent turned to face Diana and the woman frowned at the concern on his face.

"What's wrong? Is Neal alright?" Jones picked up his pencil and started tapping it against the desk.

"Apparently…Neal recognizes the phrase. Marshal _Derk_ used to say the exact same thing." Diana was out of her seat the next second. "Wha- Diana!" The female agent ignored her friend for the moment and charged right up to Director Hughes's office. The man was on the phone and raised a brow when he saw who had raced up to his door.

"Yes. Yes, sounds great. I'll check my calendar and let you know." He hung up and gave Agent Berrigan his full attention. Diana didn't need any prompting.

"I want to take Marshal Roberts in for questioning." Both of the Director's eyebrows went up, as did Jones's when the man joined their impromptu meeting.

"Are we talking about arresting him, Agent? Because I'm going to need more than 'I want to' to allow you to arrest a fellow officer." Diana shrugged.

"That depends on what information the questioning gets out of him. The note left in Johnson's mouth is near verbatim something Marshal Roberts' uncle said to Neal years ago. I cannot believe it is a coincidence that Marshal Roberts is on this case and things are pointing to his own flesh and blood." Hughes sighed and continued to stare at the two agents. Finally,

"Unfortunately, I'm inclined to agree. Alright. But I want this quiet. The last thing we need is the entirety of the US Marshals banging down our door, because we've taken one of their own hostage." Diana smirked in satisfaction.  
"You got it, Sir." She swept out of the office, before Jones could get a word in. Hughes shook his head and caught Jones's eye.

"Make sure she doesn't kill him." Jones bit his lip to stop from laughing at the amusing image of Diana strangling Marshal Roberts with his own tie. Instead he nodded sharply and left. With the way Diana was so eager to pin the Marshal to the wall, Clinton was surprised to find her walking calmly towards the man who was flipping through crime scene photos. He followed suit.

"Marshal Roberts," he heard her start. "There's been a development that we'd like to discuss with you. Can we talk somewhere privately?" Marshal Roberts raised a brow at the two White Collar agents across from him, shocked at the level of civility. He knew he had been less than decent since he got on the case, but he didn't think these people were inclined to forgive and forget so quickly. His partner had been throwing a hissy fit since the crime scene that morning and left to go grab them some lunch. Honestly, he was glad of the break. Marshal Smith didn't know when to stop sometimes.

"Sure, Agents. Lead the way." Diana nodded and all three of them left the office and stepped into the elevator. Jones hit the button for two floors above, where the more private interrogation rooms are kept. As soon as Diana opened the door to one, Marshal Roberts got suspicious.

"What is this? Why are we in here?" Diana gestured for the man to take a seat across from her.

"Oh, we just want to talk. How about we start with why are _you_ on this case?" The Marshal immediately went on the defensive.

"Excuse me? Do you think I can't do my job?" Jones stepped forward with his arms crossed, a blank expression on his face.

"That wasn't the question, Marshal Roberts. We want to know why you specifically were given this case." The man across from them started to pace as his agitation grew. He spat his next sentences at them.

"So you'll interrogate _me,_ a US Marshal, but you won't interrogate your pet con? Why aren't you over at Peter Burke's door and shaking some answers loose from that criminal? You should be looking at _Caffrey_ not me." Jones narrowed his eyes at the man.

"You seem to be stuck on Neal being involved. Do you know something we don't?" Diana and Jones knew that Neal had no part in any of this, but something had the Marshal all hot and bothered over him.

"I have been after this guy for months now. I've combed through the trail of bodies he's left across the country, and he hasn't changed his MO once….until now. What is it about your precious Neal Caffrey that's made this ruthless killer veer off track?" Diana and Jones shared a look. That was an interesting question that they would have to dig into later. Right now they needed to take the conversation back.

"Do you feel better now, Marshal? Now that you've got that out of your system, why don't you answer my damn question?" Marshal Roberts pursed his lips and breathed out hard through his nose. He ran his hand roughly back and forth over his mouth, before finally saying,

"I can't tell you. I'll get pulled off the case." Diana leaned forward.

"If you don't tell us, we'll make sure you do." The Marshal scowled and paced the room even faster. After a few minutes of this, he finally stopped and leaned back against the wall. He sighed deeply, his head bowed.

"I convinced my boss to let me take this case, despite the fact…." The White Collar agents patiently waited. Their silence was rewarded. "There is strong evidence that my uncle is involved with the killer somehow. My boss initially refused to let me work it, but I told him that I wouldn't have a problem bringing that piece of _scum_ in. He gave in, but if anyone finds out, we could both get in trouble."

* * *

 **Lots of revelations in this one! Some you knew and some...I'm hoping you didn't.**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	18. Chapter 18

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 18

 **Guys! SPRING BREAK! It is a magical sleepy time place with puppies and kittens and food! I'm happy. Carry on. :)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Pulling Teeth**

Diana and Jones did all they could to keep a straight face. To find out that the Marshal knew his uncle was involved and _wanted_ him caught was not something they expected.

"Why would you want your uncle caught? He's family." The severity of Marshal Roberts's scowl took them back.

"Not anymore. I used to think he was the coolest uncle ever. When I was younger, I wanted to be just like him, getting the bad guys, protecting the innocent. He got fired from his job as a US Marshal when I was in college. At first I thought it was an outrage. How could they fire a hero?" The man sounded so bitter, the two White Collar agents felt the smallest hint of sympathy curling through them. "Then one of the people he worked with told my mom _exactly_ why he got fired." Roberts looked Diana square in the eyes. "Turns out my uncle had been abusing the kid he was supposed to be protecting _for years._ That piece of scum beat a child. Once that came out, other shady things started coming out of the wood works. Money and drugs going missing over the years, other witnesses and Marshals getting taken out, followed by a lump sum getting dropped into his bank account. The agency had already let him go by the time that all was found out. Then he went off the grid."

Marshal Roberts sighed and ran a hand down his face. It was only then that Diana actually took notice of the wedding band around the man's finger. Jones spotted it too.

"Do you have kids, Marshal?" Roberts was thrown off kilter by the question for a moment, but then nodded.

"Yeah. Twins, a boy and a girl. I've tried letting it all go, to just not talk about it like the rest of my family. But then I look at them and realize that _he's_ still out there, a monster who hurt a child for fun. There have been the occasional leads in his whereabouts. It seems like he's got a lucrative business going as a crime mediator of sorts. He's been linked to a number of professional hits as well, not as the killer, but as the puppet master in a way. I can't tell you how many times I've gotten _this_ close to catching him, only for there to be another partner we didn't know about." Everything started to click into place.

"That's why you were so hostile with Caffrey. You thought he was another silent partner, or at least part of the network." Marshal Roberts nodded sharply.

"It wouldn't be the first time a CI was involved." Diana shook her head.

"We can tell you without a doubt that Neal's not a part of this." When the Marshal opened his mouth to object, Diana held up her hand to silence him. "Neal is a target and a _victim_ in this situation. There is no way that he would be involved in your uncle's network." Marshal Roberts growled.

"You keep saying that, but you won't tell me why!" Diana and Jones had a silent conversation through with their eyes, and eventually agreed to tell the Marshal.

"Because, Marshal Roberts," Jones started, "Neal Caffrey was the boy your uncle got fired over. He was in witness protection with his mother, and your uncle was one of the Marshals assigned to protect them. Neal couldn't take it anymore and ran away when he was fifteen. Your uncle was fired a week later." Marshal Roberts fell into the chair at Jones's words. It was like all of the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Realizing he had met the man the child his uncle abused had become…made the whole thing much more real. He ran his one interaction with Caffrey over again in his mind and something clicked. He groaned.

"That's why he looked so nervous around Smith and me at Burke's place. We thought it was because he was hiding information. He just has a very good reason not to trust US Marshals." The man cradled his head in his hands and sighed. "Now I feel like a total jackass." Diana couldn't contain her snort.

"Only now?" The Marshal shot her an unimpressed look and then sat back.

"So….are you going to get me taken off the case, now that you know?" Diana and Jones did their silent conversation thing again, before answering.

"No. You could have some useful insights in regards to who your uncle works, but one toe out of line and you're ass is back at Marshal HQ." The Marshal nodded readily at Diana's threat.

"How much does your partner know about all of this," Jones queried. Roberts snorted.

"Smith? Absolutely nothing. The guy's not the sharpest tool in the shed. He replaced my old partner who was killed by one of my uncle's associates. Marshal Smith jumps to a lot of conclusions and once he gets an idea into his head about 'who done it', he doesn't let go. Unfortunately, I've helped his little Caffrey hang-up along." Marshal Roberts paused. "Is…is there any way I could talk to Caffrey? You know, to apologize?" Neither Diana nor Jones were thrilled with the idea, and they knew Peter would absolutely hate it. However, they thought that should be up to Neal, which they would tell Peter when they filled him in on everything.

"That's not up to us, but we'll pass along your request and let you know. Now, we need to go back and inform Director Hughes of what's going on. No guarantees that _he_ won't sideline you, but we'll let him know you have our support." Marshal Roberts nodded in understanding.

Finally, all three of them left the interrogation room and entered the elevator. When they walked back through their floor, Marshal Roberts nodded to his partner who had returned. Marshal Smith narrowed his eyes at him, confused as to what he was doing with the White Collar agents. That confused expression turned into a scowl when Marshal Roberts gestured for him to remain seated while he went on ahead.

Director Hughes looked up from his desk with surprise for the second time that day. He looked between the three agents before him and leaned back. Once Jones closed the door, he addressed Diana.

"So I take it you've changed your tune about arresting Marshal Roberts?" The man in question looked at Diana, shock and some indignation written across his face. Diana ignored him.

"Some information has come to light, and we think you should hear it. Before he says anything, Director, Jones and I would recommend that Marshal Roberts still be allowed to assist in the case." That certainly got the Director's attention, which he then turned fully onto the Marshal. The man pulled his shoulders back and told Hughes what he had told Diana and Jones not ten minutes before.

In the five minutes following Marshal Roberts's last word, Hughes just sat silently, staring at the Marshal. Finally, when he was sure Roberts was sweating under his collar, he spoke.

"You do realize, Marshal Roberts, that if I pushed hard enough I could get you and your boss fired, correct?" The man in question nodded sharply and looked resigned to his fate. "Well, lucky for you I'm not in the mood…so long as you work _with_ my agents and help catch the person who hurt one of our own." The Marshal was so shocked his jaw fell open. "One toe out of line though, and you're gone, understand," Hughes said, paralleling Diana's earlier threat.

"Y-yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Hughes nodded and motioned for them to go.

"I believe you have an assassin to catch. I'd prefer that happened before Caffrey gets his memories back and decides to do something stupid. You know how he gets when Peter's anywhere near danger." The three agents nodded and left, leaving Hughes to hope and pray they catch the killer, and soon.

* * *

El was shocked to see a plain clothes policeman come into her store and insist he escort her home not three hours after she started work. She was instantly on alert and told her assistant that she was leaving for the day. El grabbed her purse and followed the man to his car. Her mind was running over the events of that morning, and she feared Neal might have run off again.

"Is everything alright? Did something happen?" The officer turned on the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

"Your husband and friend are fine, but for your own safety, your husband thought it best you be at home." He didn't say anything more than that, no matter how much El prodded. It was another twenty minutes, before they made it back to her home, and he opened the door for her. She thanked him, and he watched to make sure she got inside.

As soon as she closed the door, she was wrapped in her husband's arms. El laid her head on his chest and hugged him back just as fiercely. It was a solid three minutes before they pulled back enough to look at each other.

"Peter, what is going on? Is everything ok?" Peter sighed and shook his head.

"The man that we arrested on the day Neal got shot was killed this morning." He let his wife take a moment to gasp before continuing. "The killer…left a message for Neal, and he recognized it as something one of the Marshals used to say." El didn't need Peter to clarify. She knew who he was talking about, and it shook her.

"So, now you know without a doubt that he's going to come after Neal, and you're worried that he'd come after me to get to him?" Peter could only shrug.

"If he knows that Neal cares about either of us then that could be a possibility. Or he could come after you to get me away from Neal and then get him. I wasn't going to take any chances." El nodded and patted her husband's cheek.

"Perfectly understandable. And speaking of Neal, where is he?" Peter sighed.

"He's upstairs moping with Satchmo. Well, moping or having a breakdown, I'm not sure." El narrowed her eyes at Peter.

"Why do I get the feeling that it's not completely about the professional killer coming after him?" Peter slid his arm around her shoulders and walked them over to the couch. He didn't say anything, until they were fully settled and El had tucked her feet up.

"Neal remembered something today." The smile that broke out on El's face was almost enough to crack Peter's foul mood.

"That's great! What was it?" Peter snorted.

"He remembered how much he despises the Van for stakeouts." El laughed, because of course _that_ would be the first thing Neal remembers.

"My problem, is that I don't think that's the only thing he remembered and I think he thinks he's hiding it from me." El rubbed a hand over Peter's heart.

"Are you sure you're not just being suspicious? Besides, what would he remember that he wouldn't want to talk to you about?" Peter had been thinking that very same thing, and the same ugly thought kept popping up.

"Kate," he grimaced. That one word made El tense and she understood immediately.

"Ah. Yeah, now I see what you're saying. Well, come on." She pushed off of her husband and stood. El ignored Peter's confused face and grabbed his arm to pull him up.

"El, what-"

"We are going upstairs and sorting this out right now. This is not the time for keeping secrets or trying to be a martyr or moping. We need to be open with each other. That's what families do." Peter stopped dead in his tracks.

"Family?" El rolled her eyes and smiled fondly at her husband.

"Yes, Sweetie, family. Don't tell me that you haven't been thinking like that this entire time. Heck, since Neal got the anklet the first time, you've practically adopted him." Peter wanted to believe it, but he refused to let the full thought form. So, he shook his head.

"El, we're just friends. Good friends, but that's it." Now, El was irritated. She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at her husband.

"You mean to tell me that a friend gets so concerned over the other when they go for a walk? Or just a friend brings the other home, no questions asked, to take care of them? You think that a friend takes a bullet for the other or goes to rescue the other's wife?" El sighed and shook her head. "Sweetie, we've all been more than friends for a long time. I'm fully convinced that it's only out of embarrassment that we might see how he really feels that Neal hasn't jokingly called us Mom and Dad already." Peter stared at his wife stunned. He let the thoughts and feelings he'd been pushing aside bloom completely in his mind, and he couldn't help smiling at the picture.

Yes, Peter Burke would finally admit that he saw Neal as a son. Maybe, it was the recent revelation of Neal's true age that cultivated the feelings more completely, but now he would admit to himself that he saw Neal as more than a friend. El saw when the realization hit him and smiled. She patted his cheek and turned towards the stairs.

"Now, c'mon, Hun. We've got some answers to drag out of our son. There is no doubt in my mind that this is going to be like pulling teeth." Peter shook his head in wonder at his wife. How he ended up with such a wonderful woman he would never know. He watched her walk up the stairs for another moment before following. Pulling teeth, indeed.

* * *

 **Lots of dialogue. Sorry not sorry. See you in 2 weeks! :)**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	19. Chapter 19

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 19

 **Felt like this was starting to drag and I needed to scoot things along...so I did. Enjoy!**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **El and Mozzie to the Rescue!**

Neal was leaning back against the headboard, his knees keeping a pad of paper propped up. One hand was putting the finishing touches on a sketch while the other was running idly through Satchmo's fur.

With a final stroke of his pencil, he stopped and just stared at the woman his hands had spilled out on the paper. He lifted a finger and traced the strand of hair falling across her face.

" _Kate_ ," he breathed out. Something ticked his cheek and he reached up…only to find that it was a tear traveling slowly down. Neal was suddenly overwhelmed with not grief but frustration. So many feelings were running through him at seeing the face of this woman…this Kate, but he couldn't put any specific memories to them! And then there was the overwhelming feeling that he shouldn't tell Peter which didn't make sense in his head. And none of this is began to touch on the murder this morning with the warning which clearly indicated that the killer was coming for him. He was just…so overwhelmed and confused-

A knock at his door interrupted his jumbled thoughts. Neal's fingers clenched in Satchmo's fur and flipped the pad over right before the door opened. He was surprised to find not only Peter, but Elizabeth coming in as well.

"Mrs. Burke? What are you doing here? I- I mean, I thought you had work?" El smirked and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Well, hello to you too. After the excitement of this morning and with this new development, Peter thought it'd be better if I stayed here with you two." Neal's cheeks tinged pink, but when he opened his mouth to apologize, El held up a hand to stop him.

"Don't even think about it. This is not your fault, and I'm not upset. Well, I am upset with a certain professional killer, but I'm not upset with you. Speaking of which, how are you doing?" The young man's head was spinning as he tried to follow the quick tumble of words from Elizabeth. When Neal didn't answer right away, El tried to prompt him. "I hear that things were pretty scary earlier, but also that you remembered something. That's good, right?" Not sure what to say at the moment, Neal just nodded.

However, this did not satisfy El in the slightest. Instead of prompting him this time, she decided to wait him out, see what he'd do. Neal started to fidget under the awkward silence, and his eyes flicked between the agent and his wife. After a little while, he cracked.

"The whole…threat thing freaked me out…especially when I recognized the phrase. But before that I did remember something, the Van. Peter mentioned it and I just said the first thing that came to mind, that I'm glad I don't have to stay in there, because the Van stinks. I didn't realize that I had 'remembered' until Peter started freaking out, but it was nice." The corner of Neal's mouth twitched up a bit, and El smiled, patting his hand.

"I was really happy to hear about it. Has anything else come back, about work or us or anything?" Neither of the Burke's missed the lightening fast flick of Neal's eyes to the pad of paper on the bed, but in the next moment, the kid was shaking his head.

"No. I'm sorry." El narrowed her eyes. She loved Neal, but she wasn't going to tolerate him lying. He needed to understand that, but also that he could trust them with things like this.

"Neal, you know we care about you. You don't have to hide anything from us." Neal tensed and sat up straighter.

"I'm not! Why would you-"

"Neal Caffrey." The strong tone immediately shut Neal up. "I can tell when you are lying. I don't appreciate being lied to. I'm not mad, yet, but I want you to tell me what you are hiding and why." Peter raised an eyebrow at his wife. He should be taking notes on interrogation techniques. Neal, meanwhile, still didn't say anything. El nodded towards the pad of paper. "Alright. Baby steps then. How about we start with what you were drawing that you don't want us to see?" El reached over to flip the pad on its back so she could see, but was stopped by Neal's hand on her wrist.

"Wait. Please, I…okay, I am keeping something from you, but I honestly don't know why!" Peter stepped closer to the bed, trying not to loom.

"What do you mean, Bud?" Neal sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"I remembered something a little while ago, and I was going to tell you. I was! Then…then I got this really bad feeling that…I shouldn't. But it doesn't make sense!" Peter and El could see how upset Neal was and felt guilty for being angry and frustrated with him.

"What did you remember, Neal?" Before he could lose his nerve, Neal reached out and flipped the pad over for them to see.

"Her. Kate. I…I remember Kate." He watched both of them for any signs of growing anger and while he found flickers of it in Peter's eyes, Neal mostly saw sadness.

"Oh, Honey." Neal didn't know whether to rip his hair out or cry. Maybe he would do both!

"What?! You can't look at me like that and then not tell me why." Peter sighed and rubbed a hand down his face.

"Neal…Kate is the reason that you made a deal with the FBI. She was the Bonnie to your Clyde so to speak, and when you got caught and put in prison, she left you. You broke out with only a little bit left on your jail time to try and find her. I caught you again, and then you decided to make a deal with us. You'd be my criminal consultant and wear an anklet in return for getting out. You used that freedom to try and find Kate and….things ended badly." Peter's words stirred up something inside of Neal, and while their weren't any images to go with the feelings, there was one thing he definitely understood.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Peter could only nod. A lump formed in Neal's throat as feelings he still didn't fully understand washed over him. An ache started to grow from his left temple outward to encompass most of his head. His brow furrowed as the ache became more intense. Despite the pain, however, he wasn't distracted from the thoughts taking root in his mind.

"You…didn't like her. You thought she was bad for me." Peter was taken back, and he shared a look with his wife.

"Yeah. She was using you to get what she wanted." Neal felt a lash of anger lick up from his chest, and he glared at Peter.

"But I loved her! And she loved me! She did!" He brought his hands up to his head as the headache grew. "Owwww," he groaned. El turned to Peter as she reached a hand out to Neal's shoulder.

"Peter, the pain pills." The agent nodded once and left immediately.

"Neal, it's okay. Just breathe with me. In and out, that's it." El managed to keep Neal calm, while Peter grabbed a pill and glass of water for his partner. While he was ecstatic that Neal was getting his memory back, he was less than thrilled that it seemed to be accompanied by pain.

Soon he was back upstairs and handing his partner the pill and water. Neal took them without hesitation and swallowed the pill without issue. It wasn't a miracle drug however and would take some time to sink in. So, for now, Neal just tried to lean back and work through it with El and deep breathing. After a few minutes of quiet, the Burkes finally saw the muscles in Neal's shoulders unwind some.

"Sooooo, besides Kate, was there anything else you are keeping from us?" El glared at her husband.

" _Peter,_ " she hissed. Neal sighed and gave in to the childish urge to roll his eyes.

"It's fine, El. The only other thing I've remembered is that your kitchen seems familiar. It was a deja vu moment. That's it. I swear." Peter could see that Neal was finally telling the truth and relaxed.

"Thank you, Neal." The agent gave his partner a soft smile. Neal snorted.

"You're welcome….I guess. Now, can I ask a question?" Peter huffed but nodded.

"How are you going to catch this guy?" The agent honestly didn't know what to say. He felt helpless being unable to be at the office contributing, unable to stop Neal from getting hurt, unable to help his friend regain his memories.

"I can't answer that question, Bud." It hurt Peter's heart to see Neal's face fall. "But I can tell you that we _will_ catch him. He's not going to get away with this. Diana and Clinton are working this as hard as they can. Don't worry, Neal." Neal felt and looked defeated and tired and overall done with everything. El made a snap decision and slid up the bed so she was sitting right next to Neal against the headboard.

She gestured for Peter to do the same, and though the agent was unsure about it, he came and sat on Neal's other side after scooting Satchmo out of the way. Neal was surprised but pleasantly so, as he found himself surrounded by people who cared about him.

Not wanting to be left out, Satchmo leaned his head over to lay on Neal's knees. Neal let out a wet laugh and settled in. Emotions were running through him at high levels and his head was still pounding, but he wouldn't end this moment for the world.

* * *

Diana, Jones and Marshal Roberts were calling every source they could and combing through every bit of evidence. So far they had found…zip. Zilch. Nada. Marshal Roberts looked ready to pull his hair out and Diana looked ready to punch him. Jones was getting ready to put them both in a time out, when his phone rang. He sighed.

"Agent Jones."

" _Junior Suit, I have a name."_ That got him sitting up straighter.

"That's great, Moz, 'cause we've had no luck on our end." Diana whipped around to look at him, suddenly very excited. Marshal Roberts was confused, but seemed to understand that this phone call was a good thing.

 _"Yes, well, I have much better resources. Connor Sharp, ex-British Special Forces. You didn't hear it from me."_ Without another word, Mozzie hung up, but Jones didn't care. They had a name!

"Guys, Connor Sharp. He's ex-British Special Forces." Diana and the Marshal were on it before Jones had even finished his sentence. With all three of them digging they found what they were looking for pretty quick.

"Shocker, he was dishonorably discharged after ten years of service. Seems like he started to free lance a bit on the job." Diana pulled up his picture so it filled her screen.

"He left the UK soon after that and then just drops off the grid. Looks like he's a person of interest in a number of mysterious deaths in Europe though." Jones made a interested grunt that drew their attention.

"The guy is technically a Lord." Diana snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Figures that Neal would get shot by a _posh_ British assassin." Jones sent the important files and the man's picture to print. Once he had the papers, he practically leapt up the stairs to show the Director what they had found.

"Sir," he said barely a moment after knocking. "We think we know who he is." He stepped further in and then laid Sharp's picture on Hughes' desk. "His name is Connor Sharp. He was dishonorably discharged from British Special Forces and is a person of interest in a number of murders in Europe."

Director Hughes glared at the picture as he held it in his hands. He finally looked up at his agent and raised his brows.

"You're sure about this?" Jones nodded.

"The name came from Mozzie." Hughes nodded once and set the picture down.

"I want this picture sent to every officer in the city and every news station that'll run it. This man does not get away again, you understand?" Jones nodded and started to walk out of his office.

"Agent Jones." The young man stopped and turned back, brows knit together.

"Sir?" Hughes sighed and pointed to the picture Jones was holding.

"You need to have Caffrey take a look at that. It might jog something and if it does we'll have absolute confirmation that Sharp is our guy. I know Mozzie gave you the name, but we need to be absolutely sure that Neal can identify him or Sharp's defense attorney will have a field day." Jones knew this wasn't going to be pleasant, but he also knew that the Director was right.

"Yes, Sir. I'll take Diana…and Marshal Roberts with me." Hughes nodded his approval.

"Good. I'll keep an eye on Marshal Smith from here. Something's off with the guy, more than just being a pouting child." Jones couldn't agree with the Director more. He finally left and motioned for Diana and the Marshal to get their stuff together.

"We need to get this guy's picture out to every office and news station ASAP, but first we need to show it to Neal." Marshal Roberts frowned as he shrugged on his suit jacket.

"But he has amnesia. Do you really think it'll help?" Diana pulled her phone out to dial Peter to give him a heads up.

"It could jog his memory and help him remember. If not…well Sharp's still a person of interest." With their goal in mind, they grabbed what they needed and headed out the door.

* * *

 **Even more dialogue this time around. :/ Huh. Whatever.**

 **Tell me what you think!...Please. ;)**


	20. Chapter 20

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 20

 **Woke up this morning after 2 weeks straight of writer's block and realized I hadn't finished writing this chapter. However, I refused to leave you hanging. I guess I work well under pressure. Here's a complete chapter for you, right on time! :)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Face to a Nightmare**

Peter peeked out of the side of the curtain to try and spot the Van. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it parked half a block down on the opposite side of the street. He knew that neither Diana nor Jones would be in there, but he also knew that they personally picked who would be. Peter was confident that they were in good hands.

The agent turned away from the window and looked at El and Neal sitting together on the couch. All three of them had moved downstairs when Peter got a call from Diana telling him that she, Jones and Marshal Roberts were coming to them. Despite the explanation Diana gave him, Peter still wasn't thrilled with the idea of Marshal Roberts coming. However, Neal seemed to be alright with it, hesitant but alright.

Peter settled into a chair next to his wife and partner and watched as El showed Neal her store's catalogue. The kid seemed genuinely interested, and it made both Burkes smile.

About twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the front door. Satchmo lumbered over to the door and lazily barked at whoever was behind it. Peter rolled his eyes and pushed out of his seat. He wasn't surprised to find his agents and the Marshal waiting to be let in. The senior agent stepped aside and gestured for them to enter.

El and Neal stood as they came in. Neal was nervous, made obvious by his defensive stoop and slight trembling. El smiled at Jones and Diana, before raising a sharp brow at the Marshal. The man cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Burke. I-uh, I apologize for our last encounter. I was out of line and disrespected you by abusing my power as a Marshal." El didn't say anything, but she nodded in acknowledgement of the apology. Then, like flipping a switch, she smiled at all present.

"Would anyone like some coffee? I just started a pot a few minutes ago." Jones shook his head and turned her down.

"Thank you, Mrs. Burke, but we just need to talk to Neal and then we need to get going." At that, all attention turned to the youngest man in the room. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and nodded to the agents.

"Well, uh…what did you want to ask me?" Diana, hoping to make Neal feel a little more comfortable, suggested they all sit. Peter gestured them over to the kitchen table where there were more chairs. Peter and El flanked Neal on one side, leaving the agents on the other. Satchmo came over and laid down under the table between their feet with a contented groan. After a few moments of awkward silence, Jones cleared his throat.

"We need to know if you recognize this person. His name is Connor Sharp." Diana set the picture of ex-British Special Forces agent down in front of Neal. Peter and El glared at the picture as if it was actually the man himself, but Neal stared at it. He cocked his head to the side and his brows furrowed.

Without warning, he jumped up from the table and ran upstairs to the guest room.

"Neal!" El put a hand on Peter's arm when he got up to run after Neal. Peter looked at her in confusion.

"Just wait." Peter trusted his wife's judgement, and soon all five of them heard the young man come rushing back down the steps. He held a crumpled piece of paper in his hands. Neal approached the kitchen table and sat back down.

Reaching out for the picture, he set the piece of paper he brought down next to it and smoothed it out. El couldn't contain her gasp.

The paper was actually a face Neal had drawn a couple of days ago. He had had a dream and was trying to remember what his attacker looked like. The picture Neal had brought down was one of many, but laying next to the photo of Connor Sharp, the resemblance was uncanny.

"Did you draw that, Neal?" The young man nodded in answer to Diana's question.

"I had a nightmare about getting shot," he gestured to his stitched wound. "I tried to draw the man's face, but I couldn't get it right. The details were all fuzzy." The Marshal leaned over to get a better look at the drawing.

"I'd say the details were just right." Neal watched the Marshal warily. The man noticed his discomfort and sat back. "Look, uh, Caffrey-" Whatever the Marshal was about to say was cut off by his phone ringing.

He looked down in surprise and sighed when he saw who it was.

"It's Marshal Smith," he told the agents. After waling further into the kitchen for a semblance of privacy, he answered.

"Roberts."

 _"Where the hell are you? The old guy is staring at me like I stole his lunch money."_ Marshal Roberts scowled.

"That old guy is the Director of the White Collar Division of the FBI. I'm beginning to think we're going to need to have a discussion on respecting authority."

Everyone at the table sat at attention at Robert's growled words. Peter cast a questioning look to Diana and Jones. Jones mouthed 'Later', and they all went back to listening in on one side of the conversation.

 _"What's wrong with you? Ever since this morning at the crime scene you've been acting weird. Now you're gone, the two annoying agents are gone and_ the old guy _is staring at me!"_ Roberts was absolutely done with Smith's attitude and was fully planning on requesting a new partner when they were finished this assignment.

"I decided to grow up. Maybe you should try it some time." When his partner started to splutter and complain over the line, Roberts cut him off. " _Shut it_. I am working the case right now with two _competent_ FBI agents. And maybe he's staring at you, because you're shouting in the bullpen! We'll talk when you've decided to stop acting like a child." He didn't even wait for the other man's response before hanging up.

One thing he didn't like about cell phones was the dissatisfaction of simply hitting a button to end the call. He would much rather slam down a receiver at the moment. Roberts sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. After taking a minute to compose himself, Roberts walked back to the kitchen table and sat down.

"Sorry about that. My partner was _whining_." They all silently accepted the apology and Jones turned to Peter.

"When I told Director Hughes that we were coming here, he said he'd keep an eye on Marshal Smith. We both agree something's off about him." At Roberts's confused look, Jones elaborated. "More than just being a child. I'm not sure, but it all seems…deliberately over the top."

Peter dropped his head into his hands and sighed heavily.

"How about we focus on catching the murderer first, then go after our own people? Can we do this one step at a time? Thanks." Neal looked concerned for the agent, while El was biting her lip and trying her hardest not to laugh.

Suddenly, as if prodding the agents into action, Neal's stomach growled. He blushed a bright red, but it was enough to get Peter to bark out a laugh. The senior agent smirked at Neal, before giving his junior agents and the Marshal a serious look.

"Guess that's your cue. The next time you call, you better have Sharp in custody." Diana nodded.

"We'll get him, Boss. You get better, Caffrey." Neal's lips curved into a smirk and he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Aw. It actually sounds like you care, Diana." Agents Jones and Berrigan froze as the old Caffrey made an appearance. Peter and El meanwhile were beaming.

"Oh yeah, didn't we mention? Some of Neal's memory is starting to come back." Diana's face cracked into a smile before she could help it.

"Boss," she cried indignantly, then she smirked right back at Neal.

"Don't expect it to last, Pretty Boy." She and the Marshal started walking to the door, while Jones stepped closer and squeezed Neal's shoulder.

"We're glad to see you're getting better." He looked at Peter. "I'll be sure to let the Director know. He'll be happy too." With that, he followed the other agents out of the Burkes' home.

Once they were gone, El turned her attention to their house guest. She smiled pleasantly at him and patted his hand.

"Anything in particular you're hungry for or should I make it a surprise?" Neal smiled back and shrugged.

"I don't really care. Whatever's easiest for you. I could help…too. If…if you want." And just like that the shy, sixteen-year old Neal was back. Instead of getting rebuffed like he expected, Neal got an even brighter smile in return.

"How about we get you a snack and then you help me make an early dinner? I know just the thing, but it'll take a while to make." Neal was happy with that option and soon he and El were working side by side, while Peter watched from the kitchen table. He wasn't allowed to cook in the kitchen, only the grill.

El wasn't just having Neal help her for her sake, but she was hoping to distract Neal from what they had learned today. It was one thing to not know who attacked you; it was another to have a face on the monster of your nightmares. The young man didn't seem too off kilter from the meeting, but he was still quieter than usual.

When dinner was finished, they all settled down to eat. Conversation flowed easily with only a few moments of quiet. They weren't awkward though. All three of them were comfortable in each other's presence to just enjoy the company, words or no. Soon, night was upon them and Neal was fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Hey, Bud. I think it's bed time." Neal snorted, but stood.

"I'm not five, Peter. I don't need a bed time. But yes, I'm tired. So I will go to bed of my own volition and not because you told me too." Peter rolled his eyes, but his fond smile softened the gesture.

Neal climbed the stairs to his room, and changed into some pajamas. He closed the door behind him without thinking, blocking Satchmo from following him. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out.

* * *

He did not move once the darkness of night fell. No, he waited until he was certain all of the occupants of the house were asleep. However, he couldn't wait too long, knowing the agents in the van would be expecting him to attack in the middle of the night, when they were at their most tired.

He checked again to make sure he had all that he needed, including the syringe and his gun, before he exited the alley. Moving swiftly and keeping to the shadows, he crept down the street until he was in range of the FBI van. He reached into his pocket and flipped the switch on the remote that hacked into the van's video feed.

He had recorded the house long enough to create a loop to play in the van. It was a pretty nifty piece of tech from his benefactor.

Once that was done, he was free to approach the house without having to worry about agents swarming him. He kept his head down in case of any cars, though none passed. When he finally reached the Burke's house, he stopped and looked up.

The kid's room was the window two up and to the left. He pulled out his gloves and slipped them on. Being sure to stay far enough away from the security light on the front door, he pulled out a magnet. He laid it on top of the alarm sensor and once it had sat for a solid ten seconds, he flipped the lock open with his blade.

Quickly, he pushed the window open and slid inside the house. He turned not a moment later to shut the window. Once that was done, he removed his shoes. The next part was going to require a lot of patience.

He scanned the bottom floor quickly for any signs of the dog, before he slowly made his way over to the stairs. Step by step he crept up, freezing whenever one made a sound.

It took him a solid fifteen minutes to get all the way to the top, but he hadn't woken any of the house's occupants. He peeked around the corner and that was when he found the dog.

He had to hold in a snort as the animal was laying against his target's bedroom door. It seemed the kid had forged a bond with the mutt. Well, that's what the syringe was for. The same procedure he took with the stairs was applied to creeping down the hall.

When he was within three feet of the door and the dog, he slid the syringe out of his pocket and uncapped it. As he crept close enough to the animal, he couldn't help but think he was a terrible guard dog. The sedative acted quickly, and the dog only managed to get in a flinch before he was out again. He smirked. This was too easy.

Just for precaution, he had also brought a small tube of hinge oil to prevent anything from squeaking. He applied it to the door's hinges and then turned the knob. He stepped over the drugged animal and closed the door silently behind him.

He looked down at the figure, dead to the world in the bed. A slim beam of light cut across the room, illuminating enough for him to see the kid's face. The stitches on the side of his head stood out starkly against his pale skin.

The man shook his head to focus himself once more. He couldn't linger long. He had a job to do.

He stepped right up to the side of the bed, standing in the beam of light and casting a shadow over his target.

He reached into his pocket…

* * *

 **Yay plot movement! Not so yay: cliffhanger! You love me; you know you do. ;)**

 **Tell me what you think!**


	21. Chapter 21

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 21

 **What is this?! It's...a new chapter! A day early! Guess I just couldn't stand to leave you all in suspense for one more day. ;)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Not the First Time**

 _"I can help you catch him. I can help you catch the Dutchman."_

 _"These suits belonged to my late husband, Byron."_

 _"Kate, where are you? Tell me what's going on."_

 _"You can't trust them, Neal."_

 _"Suit. Mrs. Suit."_

 _"Really, Moz?"_

 _"Peter!"_

Neal was slow to open his eyes. His head ached, and dreams, _memories_ were still swimming in his eyes. He brought a hand up and scrubbed it harshly down his face, catching the stubble filling out along his jaw.

How could he have forgotten so much? It was inconceivable. He couldn't wrap his mind around the concept now that he had it all back. _He had all of his memories back_. The smile that split his face was enough to get him moving. Peter and El would be thrilled.

As Neal sat up, he noticed something on his nightstand. He was immediately on alert. It was a small envelope with nothing written on the outside. That wasn't like Peter or El _at all_.

Neal hesitantly lifted the envelope and open it. The only thing inside was a small white business card. It had one phone number printed on it. He flipped the card over.

 _Call the number on the front when you're ready to end this._

 _Tell anyone, and they die._

There was no mistaking who the card was from or who _they_ were. Neal's heart was pounding out of control. The killer had been _here_. In Peter's house. In Neal's _room._ He had been standing over Neal, close enough to have done anything…and all he did was leave a note. Why?

The answer hit Neal like a ton of bricks. The guy had a leash, and someone on the other end of it was tugging the chain, telling him what to do….and Neal knew exactly who that person was.

The question then was why did someone he hadn't seen in over a decade want to play these games with him? Neal's train of thought was broken when he heard the tell tale signs of El and Peter moving around downstairs. No doubt, El was preparing breakfast while Peter was delegated to the kitchen table. Neal looked back down at the card.

 _Tell anyone, and they die._ He felt a strong urge to rip the card to pieces, as if doing so would somehow hurt the person who had given it to him.

Unfortunately, Neal didn't have time to think about the situation. Peter would soon come upstairs to wake him, and finding him holding the card would be a dead giveaway. Neal quickly got up and slid the envelope with the card under his mattress. Once everything was in order again, he crossed the room and opened the door.

He nearly tripped on Satchmo on his way out.

The dog was laying right in front of the doorway. Realizing he must have slept there all night, Neal was very concerned. What if the killer had-

Neal knelt down and laid a hand on Satchmo's shoulder and shook him gently.

"Satchmo. Hey, Buddy." Neal's heart skipped a beat when he didn't get an immediate response. However, in the next moment, the golden lab groaned and opened his eyes. As if nothing had happened, Satchmo stretched before slowly stumbling to his feet. Neal realized the intruder must have just drugged Satchmo, because a dead dog would have been a bit of a clue that someone had been in the house.

Satchmo turned around and, seeing as Neal was at the perfect height for it, snuffled all over the young man's neck and face. The con wasn't expecting it and fell back with a startled laugh. The dog's cold nose tickled.

"Neal? You okay up there?" Neal cleared his throat before answering.

"Yeah, all good." As Neal stood, he resolved to talk to Peter. He would have to test the waters before he decided what to do. A small voice in the back of his head was saying that he should tell Peter everything, that he can trust Peter. That might have been true for an amnesiac Neal, but to a Neal with all of his faculties, his first priority was to protect Peter and El. If that meant breaking their trust…well, it wouldn't be the first time Neal disappointed Peter.

Satchmo lumbered alongside the young man as he walked down the hallway. Neal was nervous when the dog got to the stairs, but Satch seemed to have shaken off whatever was left of the drug and handled them fine.

Neal rounded the end of the stairs to see Peter at the table where he expected and El setting out a large stack of pancakes. Neal went to help her set the table, but she shooed him out of the kitchen. With his arms up in surrender, Neal went to sit across from Peter. Agent Burke lowered the newspaper and smiled at his partner.

"Hey, Bud. What were you doing up there? Moving furniture?" Neal snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I wanted the bed closer to the window and the dresser in front of the door." At Peter's raised eyebrow, he told the truth. "I was petting Satchmo and he decided licking my neck would be fun. I fell back and he took advantage of me." Peter laughed at the decidedly unashamed golden lab with his head in Neal's lap and wagging tail.

"Satchmo, did you take advantage of Neal while he was down?" The dog's tail thumped faster at being talked to and Peter smiled over at Neal.

"He used to do that a lot to me when he was still a puppy. I'd be kneeling on the ground to play with him or pet him, and he'd suddenly decide to go for my neck. Then he'd jump on me and keep licking while I was on the floor in the fetal position." Neal barked out a laugh.

"Seriously? The Great Peter Burke taken out by a puppy?" Peter got a strange look on his face when Neal said that, but before he could ask, El came in and laid out a plate of bacon and the syrup.

"Seriously. I still have a few of the videos on my laptop." Neal's smile was blinding.

"Oh, El, please tell me you'll share." Whatever Peter had heard in his voice, El must have heard too because she stopped and stared at him.

"Neal…Sweetie…" El kept looking between Neal and her husband, wondering if he saw it too. Peter set his paper down and leaned forward.

"Caffrey?" Neal, deciding to put them out of their misery, turned his broad smile on Peter.

"The one and only." El gasped and Peter's jaw dropped.

"You…you remember? Everything?" Neal nodded and suddenly found himself pulled to his feet and wrapped up in El's tight embrace. His arms were trapped to his sides, preventing him from returning the hug.

"Neal! _Neal!_ " Neal laughed.

"El! El! Yes, that is my name!" El pulled back and smacked him lightly on the arm. Peter stood slowly and made his way around the table. When El finally released him, Neal turned to face Peter warily. Agent Burke wasn't much for emotional things or hugging it out, so Neal wasn't sure what to expect.

To be wrapped in an even tighter hug than the one from El was definitely not on the list of possibilities.

"You're back. You're back." Neal patted Peter's back and smiled into the man's shoulder.

"Technically, I didn't leave, soooo…" Peter rolled his eyes fondly and held Neal at arms length, taking in the full man. Even Neal's body language had changed. He held himself with a lot more confidence than he did when he believed he was sixteen. Peter smiled brightly at his partner and gently patted the side of his face.

"I was so worried that they wouldn't come back. That you wouldn't remember…" Neal's smile softened and he squeezed Peter's arm.

"Thank you." He turned to include El. "Thank you both for everything. For taking care of me, for putting up with me…for believing me." The last bit was spoken softly and Peter and El caught a glimpse of the scared teenager Neal had been.

The Burkes smiled at him.

"Always, Bud," Peter said, squeezing his partner's shoulder. Satchmo eventually reminded them that breakfast was on the table as he whined at the bacon out of his reach. So, all of the humans sat down at the table and ate, big smiles still in place. At one point, Neal's eyes caught the front page of the newspaper Peter had been reading.

Connor Sharp's picture took up the whole front page. Now that Neal had all of his memories, he could say without a doubt that Sharp was the man to shoot him. Peter was grimly satisfied when Neal informed him of this. However, there was something Neal hadn't told Peter. And he wouldn't be telling him anytime soon if he could help it.

He had crossed paths with Sharp before.

* * *

Neal had been in Super Max for a year when it happened.

He knew everyone on his cell block and down and had quickly become the go to guy for cigs and other currency items (sans people; Neal wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole). However, that wasn't all he was known for.

It was also known in select circles that Caffrey could draw anything if you described it well enough. Actual photographs were hard to come by and the guards took a perverse pleasure in confiscating them. It somehow got around that Neal's pictures were flawless and people began coming to him for pictures of family and friends and lost loved ones. Neal had been a little wary at first, but after the Head Honcho of Block C sat down across from him and began describing his six-year old daughter, he welcomed the idea.

One man on his block he distinctly remembered. The guy had two little boys and a wife waiting for him to get out. His family had fallen on hard times and in desperation, he had robbed a bank. His gun was just meant to scare the people inside, but in the end a guard got shot and he ended up on Neal's block.

It was two weeks after Neal had finished drawing the man's family, when the guy got a letter. His cry of anguish echoed down the corridors.

Someone had slaughtered his family and had dipped their fingers in their own blood to stamp the letter. Out of all the mail screenings, that was the letter that slipped through. The man had gone on a rampage and attacked the closest guy to him in his grief. It took four guards to subdue him.

The man was in solitary for a week. On the night he was supposed to be released, Neal heard a commotion down the hall. Guards were shouting for medical and lock down. However, where all the guards were running in omen direction, one was calmly walking in the other direction, head down.

Neal watched his progress down the hall. The man in question paused at his cell and looked up. Caffrey shivered at the ice in the man's eyes. The false guard smirked, put a finger to his lips and 'shhhhhd' at him. With a wink, the man was gone. Neal was left to watch the doctors wheel a gurney with the dead prisoner's body still dripping blood past him.

Caffrey wasn't surprised when no one came to talk to him about the man who had stopped at his cell.

It wasn't like any of them cared about finding out who killed one of the inmates. They all just assumed it was another inmate and left it at that.

However, Neal never forgot. He drew a picture of the murderer from memory the next day. He had fully been planning to send it to Peter Burke, asking him to look into it, but then something got planted in his cell and he wasn't allowed any communication with the outside world. Things just kept piling up until Kate happened and…well.

Needless to say, this man, Connor Sharp was a killer. A cold-blooded monster with no qualms over killing women or children. Sharp would destroy his target's world before taking out his main mission…if he was ordered to it seemed.

Neal could get the note out of his head.

 _Tell anyone and they die._ Sharp meant business, and someone paid him to not kill Neal for a reason.

Caffrey looked around the table and his throat closed up at seeing El and Peter laughing and smiling. He looked down at Satchmo, begging for a piece of bacon from his plate and picture the unmoving form he had been not an hour ago.

Sharp would destroy all of them without hesitation if given the go ahead. If Neal put off calling for too long, he had no doubt that the Burkes would be seriously injured if not killed just to spur him on. The card Neal got told him everything. _I can kill them at any time. I got past FBI surveillance, broke into an FBI agent's home and got back out. You can't stop me._

Whatever half thought through plans he had of somehow steering Peter on the right track flew out the window as he looked at them. They were…they were his family. And he had to end this.

Now.

* * *

 **And we have our Neal back! Yay :) And in typical Neal fashion, he is probably going to do something stupid without telling Peter...oh boy. See you in 2 weeks! :)**

 **Tell me what you think!**


	22. Chapter 22

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 22

 **And we're back! Finals are next week. I'm gonna die, but at least I got this chapter to you guys on time. :)**

 **PS There is a reference to a Matt Bomer movie in this chapter. Can anyone find it? ;)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Hurry**

Later, after they had all enjoyed the breakfast El prepared, Peter put in a call to Diana and Jones. It quickly became a conference call. They, and the Marshal and Director, were just as happy to learn that Neal's memories had returned. Peter, like the others, was not pleased at the lack of progress, and the Director was just as convinced as they were that something fishy was going on with Marshal Roberts' partner.

Besides the rather public and loud phone call Marshal Smith had made to Roberts the day before, the man made a number of other much more discreet phone calls and stepped out of the office going off on his own.

Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a professional assassin on the loose in New York, a disgraced ex-US Marshal running a nationwide criminal network and now potentially a what…mole? For once, he would like to deal with things one crisis at a time. As his agents began throwing theories and other "we didn't find anything here" phrases around, he absentmindedly looked around the living room.

His eyes landed on Satchmo, who was worrying a spot on his shoulder. His back paw kept coming up to scratch it and then he'd twist his head around to lick it. Peter stood and knelt down by the dog, phone still to his ear.

He laid a hand on Satchmo's head, pulling slightly to get him to stop licking. The poor thing whined pitifully.

"Shhh. I know, Buddy. Let me take a look."

" _Uh…Peter?_ " The senior agent gave a non-comital grunt as he focussed on parting the dog's fur to take a look. What he found surprised him. Given his line of work, he had seen a lot of things, and he knew right away that Satchmo wasn't scratching at a bug bite…it was an injection site. His mind began racing, trying to come up with an explanation.

" _Agent Burke._ " The Director's demanding tone brought him back to the conversation he had been a part of.

"Sorry, Sir. I…someone injected Satchmo with something." His voice was airy, half there as his mind was. El heard him and came out of the kitchen, a concerned look on her face.

"What?" She too knelt down by Satchmo and looked where Peter still held the fur parted.

" _Who's Satchmo?_ " That was Marshal Roberts.

" _Their dog,_ " the Director answered. " _You didn't take him to the vet recently for a vaccine or something?_ " While he understood Peter being concerned, the dog wasn't his main priority. As the Director questioned him, Peter began to look around the room with an agent's eye. That was when he noticed the window. He stood and walked over. The latch flipped in the unlocked position. His eyes darted to the alarm system and the shining red button indicated that the system was still activated. Peter's blood ran cold as things came into focus.

"He was here."

"What!?" He got that reaction from all directions, over the phone and from his wife.

"He was in my _house_. The downstairs window alarm has somehow been deactivated and the latch isn't in the locked position. Satchmo has been injected with something and _no_ we haven't taken him to the vet recently."

" _We had a surveillance team there the whole time! How did he get past it?_ "

 _"And why are they all still alive?_ "

" _I'm sending a team to you're house, Peter. Don't touch anything else. Where's Neal?_ " At the Director's question, Peter looked around and noticed that Neal was in fact, not downstairs. He looked to his wife.

"Where's Neal?" She was understandably shaken and stroked her trembling fingers through Satchmo's fur.

"I-I gave him my phone. He said he wanted to call Mozzie and not disturb you. He went up to his room." Peter's gut clenched and he bolted upstairs.

"Neal!" The agents on the other end of the line held their breath as Peter Burke flew down the hall and threw open the door to Neal's bedroom. Not a moment had passed before Peter cursed.

"He's gone."

* * *

As soon as El started clearing the table and Peter grabbed his phone to call the office, Neal grabbed his own plate and followed El to the kitchen.

"Hey, Elizabeth," he started, Caffrey charm held back just a pinch. "Do you think I could borrow your phone? I don't know where Peter's left mine and I should probably call Mozz. Share the good news and all that." El smiled at him as he cleaned his plate.

"Sure, Sweetie." She reached over to the island where she had set it down and handed it to him. Neal's heart clenched at lying to her, but it was necessary. He had to do it. His answering smile was brittle around the edges.

"Thanks." He made a show of looking at Peter starting his own conversation. "I'll just go upstairs and call. Don't want to bug Peter. Thanks again." El was a little confused at the excessive thanking but smiled anyway. Neal was soon gone and she went back to clearing the table.

Neal hurried up the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could. He didn't have too much time before Peter got off the phone. As soon as he got to his room, he shut the door, but didn't lock it. He grabbed the note from where he had stashed it and quickly dialed the number. It only rang twice before someone picked up.

 _"Mr. Caffrey. You've made a very smart choice._ " The man on the other end of the line had a very polished accent, but it was very cold. It sent a shiver down Neal's spine, but he made sure his voice didn't shake as he spoke.

"You've made it quite clear that I don't have many other options. I've called. Now what?" Neal tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder and started to get dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

 _"It would be in your best interests to leave the premises and_ _make your way to 5th and Main. Don't worry about the surveillance team or your anklet. You just have to get outside without alerting Agent Burke."_ Neal straightened after he tied his shoes. He looked out the window, knowing it was his only option.

"Someone's bound to notice me climbing down the front of a building in broad daylight." The man on the other end of the line chuckled darkly.

 _"Not if you're quick. This is New York City, Mr. Caffrey. People don't give a damn if they don't have to. Now, chop chop. If you're not here in fifteen minutes…"_ With that, the man hung up. Neal cursed and threw the phone onto the bed.

Without a moment's hesitation, Neal opened the window and swung his leg out. He had seen the outside of Peter's house enough to know how best to climb in and out. His cat burglar reflexes kicked in automatically, and in only a matter of seconds, he was down on the sidewalk. Neal didn't spare a minute to look back at the house that had become a real home for him and took off.

He didn't pay any mind to the odd glances he was getting. Like the man said: it was New York City. Neal was so focussed on getting to his destination that he didn't notice his good friend walking in the opposite direction.

"Neal!" Mozzie was stunned. He had been on his way for a spur of the moment visit to the Burkes' residence. However, seeing Neal bolt in the opposite direction, he changed his plans and instead followed his young friend.

Neal was moving fast, but he wasn't looking behind him, meaning no one was chasing him. He was trying to get somewhere. Mozzie lost him twice but managed to find him again and was completely out of breath by the time Neal stopped running.

He was standing at a street corner. There was nothing special about it, that Mozzie could see. Neal was looking around frantically, though, and then a taxi pulled up. His friend didn't notice it right away or didn't both to look, but then he did. Even from where he was standing twenty feet away, Mozzie could see Neal's hands shaking.

Neal bent down to talk to the driver through the window and then he got in the back seat. As soon as he started to slide into the back of the car, Mozzie rushed forward. He was able to get a good look at the driver and taxi number before he maneuvered away from the sidewalk and smoothly integrated himself back into traffic.

It was, without a doubt, Connor Sharp. He whipped out his burner phone and hit a number he had on speed dial, much as he was loath to admit it.

His call was answered immediately.

"Suit. We've got a problem."

* * *

"Mr. Caffrey." Neal swung his head around to a taxi that had pulled up to the curb. The sharp accent stood out against the dirty cab setting. The young man bent to talk through the window, but before he could get a word out, the man shot him a smirk.

"Let's go for a ride shall we? You and I, we've got places to be." Connor Sharp used his head to gesture for Neal to get in the back. Knowing what was at stake, Neal clenched his jaw and yanked open the back of the cab and slid in. He couldn't help but notice that it was one of the cleanest taxis he had ever been in.

A high pitched beep near his foot caught his attention. He looked down and saw that the light on his anklet was now blinking red, rather than holding steady. Neal scowled. He had been hoping-

"Can't have that pretty piece of jewelry spoil our fun too soon. Don't worry. They'll find you when you're ready to be found." Neal closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Nothing about that sounded reassuring.

"Can you at least tell me where we're going?" Sharp snorted and met his eyes in the rearview.

"And ruin the surprise? I think not. You'll find out in due time." Neal's scowl was still firmly in place as he crossed his arms and sat back. He didn't have full control over his facial expressions yet, but he was hoping he showed as more angry than scared.

Neal stared out the window trying to keep track of where they were going and took slow, deep breaths to calm his pounding heart. He could feel the edges of a headache trying to push through, but he tamped it back as best he could.

Finally, after half an hour, Sharp pulled the taxi into an dead end alley. He motioned for Neal to exit the vehicle. As soon as Caffrey had done so, Sharp pulled a gun on him. Neal's hands shot up in surrender.

"I really don't like guns." Sharp snorted.

"Why am I not surprised? Now, take that black cover behind you and toss it over the cab." Neal found the item by his feet and covered the bright yellow taxi. They were far enough into the alley that most wouldn't notice a taxi parked there, but the black cloth would ensure no one would see it. Once Neal was done, Sharp motioned him over with the gun.

"Come on then. Places to be. People to see." Neal kept his eyes on Sharp at all times, but before he turned the corner on the cab, he made sure to slip something into his pocket. He had found it by the cloth when he bent down to pick it up. It would most likely come in handy later.

Connor Sharp pushed him towards a black door that Neal hadn't noticed earlier. Despite being morning and a bright, sunny day, it was dark enough in the alley, that the door blended in with the shadowed wall. Neal reached out and turned the knob upon direction. The heavy door squeaked as he pulled and he couldn't see anything but more black on the other side. Neal couldn't help but feel like he was walking into a B-roll horror film. If a maniac with a chainsaw jumped out at him, he would not be held accountable for his actions.

Sharp and his gun didn't give him much of a choice on moving forward, however, and soon he was walking down a dark, smelly hallway.

"What is it with bad guys and dirty hideouts? Aren't you rich enough to buy your own place, or at least get a maid?" If Peter were hear he would smack Neal upside the head for being snarky at a time like this, but he couldn't help it. Luckily for him, Sharp laughed instead of lashing out.

"Sorry to have upset your delicate sensibilities. I'm not much for grime myself, but the rats help keep the nosy bystander away. Now, open the door on your right." Neal did as he was told. He froze when he walked into a very clean, nice looking parlor setting. Soft music was playing. The light glinted off of expensive bottles of liquor, and there was even a rug on the floor. All that was missing was a roaring fire and white, long haired cat.

"Took you long enough." Neal's heart stopped when he heard the voice. He barely registered Sharp's reply.

"Traffic. It is New York City." The other man snorted.

"Excuses. Now, kid. Long time no see." Neal finally looked at the man. He hadn't changed in ten years.

* * *

 **So what do you guys think he grabbed? If anyone comes up with something better than what I'm thinking than I just might change it. ;)**

 **Tell me what you think!**


	23. Chapter 23

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 23

 **We are nearing the end all. I guess the end of finals motivated me enough to give you the next chapter a day early. :)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Loyalty**

Peter was sitting at the end of his bed tying his dress shoes. Mozzie had called him half an hour ago to tell him that he had seen Neal running like a "bat outta hell" and getting into a taxi. The paranoid man had even been able to give him the Taxi number. Peter had promptly hung up and called his agents back, giving them the new details.

It didn't take much to convince Hughes to let him back on the case as an active agent. They both knew Peter would have gone after Neal whether the Director gave him permission or not. Diana's voice rang in his ears.

 _"The anklet's been turned off, Boss. We can't track him."_ For all the Neal hated the thing, it always gave Peter a reassurance that he would be able to find Neal no matter what. Now that security was gone. Peter was scowling down at his shoes when El walked in.

"Peter." The agent's head whipped up at the hard tone in El's voice. In her hand she held her phone. "Neal asked to borrow my phone before he…took off. He said he was going to call Mozzie." The agent quickly stood and took the device. He went to the call history and found a number he didn't recognize as being the most recent. That certainly didn't exclude it being Mozzie's, but with how shocked Mozz had been over the phone, Peter knew it wasn't.

His brain started whirring and his feet automatically took him to Neal's room. He knew Director Hughes told him not to touch anything, but Peter couldn't just stand there and wait for CSU.

Neal wouldn't leave without a reason and he couldn't have gotten that number from nowhere. El had followed him and was standing in the doorway.

"Where was the phone when you found it?" El waved a hand at the bed.

"Just laying on top of the bed." Peter furrowed his brow. Mozzie said Neal had been running down the street like he was desperate to get somewhere. It wasn't like Neal to leave clues just lying about. So he probably made the call, was given a certain amount of time to get to a certain destination, threw the phone on the bed and bolted.

Peter crouched down by the bed and looked underneath. Sure enough, he found exactly what he was looking for.

"Hun, pass me a tissue." He held his hand out and a couple seconds later had the requested item. Peter slowly slid the business card out from where it likely fell in Neal's haste and then sat back, pinching it between his tissue covered fingers.

On one side was the number that Neal called. He flipped it over. Peter sighed deeply. He now knew exactly why Neal ran. So many people thought of Neal as a cold, selfish criminal with no heart. When in fact, the complete opposite was true. Neal had one of the biggest hearts Peter had ever seen. Neal would do anything to protect the people he cared about…including running off to meet a professional hit man.

 _Tell anyone and they die._

* * *

Neal blinked a few times, wishing the image before him would change. However, the scene was still the same whenever they opened again.

He was still being held at gunpoint in a condemned building…with his childhood nightmare standing right in front of him. However, as the initial shock started to fade, his fear started to turn to anger.

"You piece of-" Neal's head whipped to the side with the force of the smack. The man backhand was hard enough to split his lip, Neal's hand coming up automatically to feel where the blood was welling up. He glared as the man huffed and smiled sharply at him.

"You have no idea how often I wanted to do that when you were a snot-nosed brat, but you were in school. Couldn't mark up that pretty face of yours and have people asking questions. I gotta say, you grew up even prettier, Caffrey." Neal scowled at the ex-US Marshal.

Derk was not impressed and turned his attention to pouring himself a tumbler of Scotch. Once he had two fingers poured he sat behind the desk and narrowed his eyes at Neal.

"You've caused me a lot trouble these past ten years, Caffrey. But, I should probably thank you." That caught Neal off guard, though he tried not to let it show. He raised a brow in lieu of a verbal question. "Without you running off and getting me fired from my job as a Marshal, I wouldn't have taken the chance on what has turned out to be a very lucrative business venture. My empire…" Derk gestured to the wealth around him and then pointed at Neal. "It's all thanks to you."

Neal scowled and pushed down his irrational guilt to be dealt with later.

"Am I supposed to feel flattered?" Derk gave him a wide-eyed innocent look that he didn't buy for a second.

"You certainly should! This is a highly successful, multi-million dollar enterprise. I built this empire from the ground up ten years ago. Besides, you've profited from this as well. Remember Venice? How about Charles Bowman?" As Derk spoke and brought up memory after memory of Neal's narrow escapes, all times he thought for sure he was going to get caught or killed, the Marshal pulled open a drawer in his desk and flicked through a few files.

"No? Well, how about this one? You can't tell me you weren't grateful for that. It was actually one of my first jobs. I handled it personally." Derk had thrown a manilla folder onto the desk and slid it forward. Flicking his eyes behind him to Sharp, the man's gun still trained on his back, Neal cautiously stepped forward and took the file.

He opened it and nearly dropped it as soon as he did. The first thing he saw was a photo of a dead body. The victim, a male in his thirties, was severely beaten, but the cause of death was obviously the five bullet holes to the chest. Neal swallowed back the bile that had crawled up his throat, and flipped to the next page of the file. Derk seemed convinced that something about it would rattle him.

Then it all made sense. The next few pages had been more pictures, taken from far off as if the person had been following the man. Now Neal saw him as he was still alive and looking less like minced meat. It was the man Neal had once worshipped. His head whipped up as he stared at Derk in disbelief.

"You…you-" The Marshal's smile was sickening as the man enjoyed Neal's distress.

"Still want to be like Dear Old Dad, Neal? I can make it happen." The picture crinkled as Neal's grip tightened.

"Why? You don't honestly expect me to believe you did this as a favor to me, do you?" Derk rolled his eyes.

"Of course not. He was encroaching onto some business of a potential partner of mine. They agreed to join me if I got rid of him." Derk shrugged. "If I maybe handled it a bit more aggressively than was asked for, well, it was a _little_ personal." Neal shook his head, his emotions starting to get the best of him and a headache forming at his temples.

"Why me? Why didn't you just have Sharp kill me?" Derk sighed as if Neal were merely a young child throwing a temper tantrum.

"This was never the original plan. Sharp told me he had been seen, and I was intrigued when he said the person had survived a shot to the head. When he found out more about you and brought the information to me, well…it just seemed like too good of an opportunity to waste. I figured we should get…reacquainted, if you will." Neal narrowed his eyes as the ex-Marshal stood.

"That can't be all." Derk smirked.

"It never is. You see, I've been keeping an eye on the great Neal Caffrey, mostly just listening through the grape vine of your exploits. I never really made the connection, until Sharp here brought me your picture. A number of my associates would appreciate having an _artist_ of your skill on their crew. What do you say?" The young man scowled, silently begging for Peter to find him.

"Becoming someone's pet con artist and forger? I don't think so. I've had enough leashes in my lifetime." Derk's expression grew hard, and without giving Neal time enough to even flinch, he reached forward and wrapped a hand around Neal's throat.

"You know, Neal, I wasn't lying when I said you grew up prettier than before. I know some very nasty people who would pay top dollar for a body with your face, despite your age. I can make it so you never see the outside of a disease rampant brothel for the rest of your miserable life… _after_ I give you the heads of your precious Agent Burke and his wife on a silver platter."

Neal's hands came up and wrapped tightly around Derk's wrist, as his air supply was cut off further. His head was pounding with the lack of oxygen and black was starting to crowd the edges of his vision. He shifted and felt something in his pants pocket.

Neal suddenly remembered what he had picked up and frantically scrabbled for it. He pulled it out and stabbed Derk in the hand. The ex-Marshal released him with an angry howl, and Neal dropped to his knees raggedly dragging in breath.

Sharp bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when he saw what Caffrey had stabbed Derk with. A piece of sharp lobster shell lay dripping blood on the carpet. Derk was trying to stop the bleeding with one of his fancy handkerchiefs. The man glared at Sharp and gestured sharply at Neal.

"Tie him up and get him ready for transport. Then, I want you to pay a visit to Mrs. Burke." Sharp nodded and grabbed Neal's arm, pulling him roughly to his feet. He dragged him from the room, leaving Derk to mutter angrily about needing stitches.

"That was a very stupid thing you did back there, Mr. Caffrey." Neal narrowed his eyes and brought a hand up to try and rub away some of the soreness from his neck.

"I noticed you didn't stop me," he rasped. Sharp smirked.

"Yes, well, he may be my boss, but I'm not his bodyguard." They didn't get very far down the hallway when they heard a shout from Derk behind them.

"What?!" The man ran out of the room and had murder in his eyes when he looked at _both_ of them. "The FBI are about to descend on this place in two minutes. How did they find it!?" Sharp raised a brow and carelessly tucked his gun in the back of his pants and turned to walk away.

"Where are you going!?" Sharp raised a hand over his shoulder and waved.

"I'm not getting caught by the Feds. Caffrey, it's been a pleasure. I hope we don't meet again. Oh," Sharp paused and turned. "And you don't have to worry about the Burkes. I won't be coming after them." Connor Sharp turned a corner and was gone. Neal couldn't help but bark out a laugh, relief flooding him, at Derk's expression of utter shock.

"I guess you're just not the kind of man that inspires loyalty." Derk scowled and pulled out his own gun, aiming it at Neal. They heard slamming car doors and multiple pairs of running feet in the distance. Neal made the mistake of turning his head as he heard someone calling for him. As Peter rounded the corner, Caffrey's collar was grabbed and he was yanked back against Derk's chest as a human shield.

"FBI! Drop your weapon and let him go!" Derk jammed the end of his gun into Neal's temple, and the young man winced. The ex-Marshal laughed.

"You think I'm stupid enough to let go of my one piece of leverage? Think again, Agent Burke." More agents came around the corner and soon there were at least ten guns aimed at the man behind Neal. It wasn't exactly comforting but it was a nice thought. Derk's eyes were wild as he took in all of the weapons trained on him.

"Drop your weapons and let me leave or your pet here is going to have a new hole in his skull."

"Uncle! You know you're not getting out of this. Just let Caffrey go." Derk scowled at his nephew and dragged Neal along as he back away. "We found your mole, Uncle. Guess you don't inspire much loyalty. My 'partner' rolled over as soon as we told him we knew who he was." Neal almost smiled as his earlier words words were repeated unknowingly. However, he could feel Derk tense even more behind him and the young man knew he was about to do something stupid and desperate. Neal met Peter's eyes and then went completely limp.

Derk hadn't expected the sudden weight and let go, leaving him wide open. The shot rang out across the room and Derk fell with a thud.

"Neal!" Peter rushed forward, his agents and Marshal Roberts right behind him.

"I need an ambulance." There was a pause. "Send the coroner too. The suspect is gone." Marshal Roberts looked down at his Uncle as the man stared unseeing at the ceiling. He couldn't find it in his to be sorry for what he had done.

Peter meanwhile ignored all of that and all of his focus was on his CI. His hands settled on Neal's shoulders; his partner was curled up in a small ball, fingers locked together behind his head.

"Neal, are you hurt?" Peter's heart skipped a beat as he saw the blood on Neal's hands. "Neal!" The young man finally, slowly, unfurled and lifted his head to look at Peter. "Neal, where are you hurt? You're bleeding." Jones and Diana dropped down beside them, but neither man paid them any attention. Neal huffed a slightly hysterical laugh and held out his hands for Peter's inspection.

"Not mine. Lobster."

* * *

 **I've sliced my thumb open on a lobster shell before. It's not fun.**

 **Tell me what you think!**


	24. Chapter 24

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 24

 **Almost there! I'm guessing only one more chapter after this. Thank you all for** **staying with me (and Neal) through this. :)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Warnings: Mainly some angst. Some violence. Some child abuse in later chapters.**

 **Charges**

Peter's blood ran cold for a moment, thinking Neal had gotten hit and was confused. Neal saw the distressed look on Peter's face and was quick to reassure the agent that his head was on straight. He waved his hands about in what his rattled self thought was a comforting manner.

"It was a lobster shell. I picked it up when Sharp wasn't looking. Derk…dead Derk…he grabbed my throat. It _really_ hurt and it was hard to breathe. Then I remembered the lobster! It was sharp and I stabbed his hand! He let go…" Neal's brows pulled together and Peter saw color slowly drain out of his face. "I _stabbed_ his hand. I- _Peter_ -" The agent moved just in time to not get hit with the projectile vomit. Jones' shoes weren't so lucky, but the younger agent wasn't too mad.

Peter gently rubbed Neal's back as the young man dry heaved. When Neal caught his breath, he looked up at Marshal Roberts.

"I'm sorry you had to do that, but…thank you." Roberts nodded tersely and waved the coroner and paramedics over. Jones and Diana got out of the way as the two paramedics crouched in front of Neal, but Peter refused to budge.

The male paramedic spoke first. "Sir, we're here to help. Can you tell me your name?" Neal stared wide-eyed at the paramedic's and Peter got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"N-Neal. I…" Neal looked at Peter, his expression distraught. "Peter, can we go home?" Peter patted Neal's shoulder, his chest puffing up slightly that his partner considers his place 'home'.

"As soon as they check you out, Buddy." The female paramedic reached out towards Neal's hands.

"Neal, you're bleeding. I need you to tell me where you're hurt." Neal shook his head, causing him to wince, catching the paramedics attention.

"No. It's not mine. I'm fine. I just want to go home." One of them pointed at the bruises on Neal's neck.

"A doctor should really check out those bruises on your neck. Did someone choke you, Neal?" As the female kept Neal distracted with questions that were only serving to irritate him, the male rolled a gurney over to them. As soon as Neal saw it he freaked out.

"No! No doctors! Peter, I don't want to go. Don't make me go! Peter, _please_." Peter felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. Neal suddenly jumped into his lap and wrapped himself around Peter. The agent automatically wrapped his arms around his partner. Diana and Jones and Marshal Roberts worked on getting the others to focus on their jobs and not the scene behind them.

"Buddy, you're okay. You're okay. Just calm down. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. They're just trying to help." Neal, however, refused to be convinced, and was having an absolute meltdown. Tears rolled down his cheeks uncontrollably and he buried his face in Peter's neck, all the while shaking his head. "Neal, listen to me. You're going to be fine. Just breathe. Just- Hey! What the hell did you do!?"

Everyone's hands automatically went to their guns at Peter's outburst. He was glaring murderously at the male paramedic who was holding a now empty syringe. Neal, who had been crying hysterically moments before, was now silent and limp in the senior agent's arms.

"He needs to go to the hospital, and with him working himself up into a state like that, a sedative was the safest option."

"That was _not_ the way to go about it. I'll be writing you up, _again_. How much did you give him, idiot?" Peter was mildly impressed as the female paramedic chewed out the man who had sedated Neal. When the woman gasped, though, Peter grew alarmed. "That was enough to put out a horse! Sir, we _have_ to get him to the hospital." Peter stood, adrenaline giving him enough strength to keep Neal in his arms and lay him on the gurney.

The female paramedic glared at her partner.

"You drive. You're not going near another patient again if I have any say in it. Agent, you can ride with us." Peter was going to ride along with or without permission, but with certainly made it easier. As they rushed to the ambulance, Peter shouted over his shoulder.

"Jones, Diana, meet us at the hospital. Jones, call Hughes and bring him up to date. Diana, call my wife and tell her that we found Neal." He trusted his agents to do what needed to be done and turned his full focus back to his partner. Peter helped the female paramedic get the gurney up and into the back of the ambulance and then climbed in after her.

As they drove along, Neal's hand held firmly in his own, Peter couldn't help but think back on the past hour that led them to finding his partner.

He had run to his car and put on his sirens to get to the office as fast as possible. It was blatant abuse of authority, but he didn't care. Neal would have laughed. Peter had called Mozzie on the way, giving the little man the number Neal had called and telling him to find out how to trace it. By the time Peter got to the office, things had gotten interesting there as well.

Apparently, Director Hughes had seen Marshal Smith slipping out to take another phone call and had surreptitiously followed him. What he had overheard was enough to haul the man into an interrogation room in handcuffs.

A thorough background check was done and after going through some slightly less than proper channels, they found what they were looking for. The "Marshal" was a rat. Derk had put him in place to keep an eye on his nephew, because apparently Marshal Roberts had come a little to close a few times. It was part of the reason his partner had been killed. "Marshal Smith" thought acting over-the-top stupid would throw suspicion off of him. His plan: be so obnoxious no one would want to pay attention to what he was doing.

It had almost worked, but then White Collar got involved and Neal was taken. Marshal Roberts hadn't been kidding when he said Derk didn't inspire loyalty. It didn't take much to get the mole to flip on his boss. Turns out, the network Derk had built was trying to put itself under new management. If the FBI wanted to take out Derk, most of his underlings would have been happy to help.

Neal would have pouted at how easy it was. Mozzie was going to be mad that he didn't have to try tracing the untraceable in the end. El was going to be-

Peter was jostled from his thoughts by their arrival at the hospital. He helped the female paramedic get Neal down and roll the gurney into the emergency room. They were swarmed immediately, and when Peter was pushed back he caught sight of the male paramedic who had sedated Neal in the first place.

"Oh no you don't." He grabbed the man by the back of the collar and hauled him after the swarm.

"Who gave him this much!?" Peter pushed the paramedic forward.

"He did." The head nurse glared at the paramedic.

"You're lucky his heart didn't stop. This is the _fifth_ time you've brought patients overdosed on sedatives into my ER. You're done." Peter would have taken a bit more satisfaction out of the man's suddenly pale complexion, but he had more important things to focus on. When he tried to follow his partner, he was stopped by the same nurse who had just chewed out the paramedic.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to stay here for a few minutes." Peter ran a hand through his hair.

"Is he going to be alright?" The nurse nodded.

"He should be. He'll just be out for a few hours and really groggy when he wakes up. The other paramedic told me they didn't get much out of him before the idiot intervened. Can you tell me what happened to him so I can pass it on to his doctor?" Peter bowed his head for a moment, trying to dredge up what little Neal had told him.

"He was kidnapped." It was easier to just say kidnapped then explain the whole situation. "He grabbed something sharp from the ground when his captors weren't looking, and when one of them tried to strangle him, he stabbed them in the hand. So the blood on his hands isn't his. When he told me, he-uh, threw up. Neal doesn't like violence. He was getting pretty hysterical and just wanted to go home when the paramedic sedated him." The nurse nodded.

"And what about his head? I noticed the stitches." Peter could have slapped himself for forgetting _that_ little detail.

"I'm FBI and he's my partner. He was doing an undercover operation and the suspects found out. He was shot at; the bullet grazed his temple, hence the stitches. But he also hit his head hard on the concrete floor twice. He had amnesia for a week, and only just got his memories back this morning." Peter rubbed his hands over his face, unable to keep completely still. "This…overdose. Will it set him back? Could it…make him forget again?" The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile.

"I can't say anything to that effect until he wakes up. I want to say it won't, but the brain is a strange thing, that we honestly don't know enough about. Who was his primary doctor the last time he was here?" Peter racked his brain trying to remember the doctor's name, but he was saved from drawing a blank when he heard someone calling his name.

"Agent Burke. Is everything alright? Is Mr. Caffrey here?" The doctor who had treated Neal before walked over to them, a concerned look on his face. Peter gestured to the man with his hand and answered the nurse.

"This is him, actually." The nurse nodded and the doctor gave her his attention.

"Dr. Fredrick, Agent Burke's partner was brought in five minutes ago. He was suffering from what appears to be attempted strangulation and shock. He should have been alright and just needed some ice and rest, but _that_ paramedic, the one who's been overdosing patients, decided to sedate him with enough to knock out a horse. He was rushed in and is being set up in room four." Dr. Fredrick's eyes flashed in anger. He turned his eyes to Peter.

"If you or Mr. Caffrey want to press charges I will gladly testify and so will most of the nursing staff here. The overdose shouldn't affect his recovery too much, but we can't know until he wakes up. How has he been before this?" Peter sighed and released a little bit of the tension winding up his shoulders.

"Lots of emotional roller coasters like you said, some headaches too, but he got all of his memories back this morning." Peter couldn't stop the smile that bloomed across his face. Some of the doctor's anger left and he smiled back.

"That is wonderful news. Well, I'll go check on him and let you know when you can see him. Just wait here and I'm sure the nurses at the front desk will have plenty of paperwork to keep you occupied." Dr. Fredrick clapped Burke on the shoulder and walked away, the head nurse walking briskly beside him.

Once he was alone, Peter noticed how much his hands were shaking and practically fell into one of the waiting room chairs. He got a mixture of sympathetic and nervous looks from the others already there, but he ignored them all. Sure enough, three minutes later, he had his hands full of, you guessed it, paperwork. He filled in what he could, not really paying attention.

"Peter!" Said man's head whipped up and he quickly stood to catch his wife. She threw her arms around him and held on tight. After a few moments, though she pulled away, questions burning her tongue.

"They said you were both fine, but then Neal had to be rushed to the hospital." Peter sighed and drew El down into the seat next to him, keeping his arm around her shoulders. The agent acknowledged Diana and Jones and then nodded to a slumped over paramedic sitting at the end of the row.

"Diana, feel free to cuff him. Even if Neal's not pressing charges, the Bureau should. Most of the staff here would be happy to testify against him." Diana raised a brow, but did as bid, reading the paramedic his rights as the guy protested the whole time.

"Peter?" Peter kissed his wife's temple.

"Neal was really rattled when we got to him, and he was getting scared and a little hysterical when the paramedics rushed over and kept insisting he be taken to the hospital. I was trying to calm him down, but the man I just had Diana arrest decided to dose Neal with enough sedatives to knock him out for hours. Apparently, it's not the first or even third time he's overdosed a patient." Jones got off the phone with the Director, informing him of the new development and being reassured that Hughes would draw up the official charges himself, and sat down across from the Burkes.

"Have the doctors said anything?" Peter waved his hand in a wishy washy manner.

"Kind of. Right now they can't make any guarantees or definitive statements until Neal wakes up. They're pretty confident that he'll be alright though. What about on your end? Did you find Sharp?" Jones shook his head.

"There was no trace of him, but we've got techs sweeping all of the security footage they can find. You want round the clock on him again?" Peter nodded.

"I'm not taking any chances. We got Derk, but with Sharp still on the loose, it's not safe." Diana returned and slumped in a seat next to Jones, a satisfied smirk on her face.

"I found some NYPD officers willing to drop him off at the Bureau for me. They were apparently quite familiar with him and were happy to see him finally in handcuffs. He did the same thing to a five year old a month ago when they responded to a domestic disturbance call gone wrong." Those gathered all shook their heads in disgust and settled in. Hopefully it wouldn't take long, but for now, all they could do was wait.

* * *

 **I just can't seem to stop hurting Neal. *sigh* I'm a terrible person.**

 **Tell me what you think!**


	25. Chapter 25

Start Over, Try Again: Chapter 25

 **Here we are! The final chapter! Thank you all for your support and continued reading of this story. It was a lot of fun and I can't wait to regale you with another. :)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar no matter how much I might wish it.**

 **Again: keep in mind I'm not a doctor. I'm just making the medical stuff up!**

 **Together in the End**

Neal did not feel good. He was sore all over, and his head was pounding, and his stomach was churning violently. The young man hissed when he twitched his fingers.

"Neal?" He painfully turned his head towards the voice and forced his eyes open. They watered immediately at the bright light, but he refused to shut them again. His vision was suddenly taken up by an image of a very rumpled and hopeful Peter Burke. "You're awake!" The agent reached over to the wall and hit a button. Neal was assuming it was the call button and that Peter wasn't just pushing random buttons in his hospital room.

The young man opened his mouth to say something to Peter, something along the lines of 'Thank you. I'm sorry,' but all that came out was a pained groan.

"It's okay, Neal. The nurses are coming." Just as Peter said it, the door opened and a female nurse and Dr. Frederick came in. They all smiled pleasantly at him.

"Hello, Mr. Caffrey. How are you feeling?" Neal was embarrassed that he was biting back tears, but he was really hurting, and it was all overwhelming.

"H-hurts," he managed to get out. Dr. Frederick frowned.

"What hurts, Mr. Caffrey? Your head?" Neal nodded slowly and winced as he did.

"Every-rything." Dr. Frederick's frown deepened and he tried to stop himself from scowling.

"That would be due to the overdose you experienced. The others who have come in from the same situation experienced something similar. I can give you a mild pain reliever, but I don't want to give you anything too strong, considering what your body just went through and flushed out." Dr. Frederick wrote something down and gave it to the nurse beside him. The doctor pulled up Neal's chart, looking it over for a few moments, before addressing his patient again.

"I had an MRI ordered and performed while you were out, just to ensure no further damage had been done. Agent Burke was not able to tell us all that you went through during your abduction and my first priority was to ensure that you had not sustained any more trauma to your head. Thankfully, everything showed up normal, and it appears that you are healing nicely from the trauma you sustained previously."

The nurse returned with pain reliever and injected it into Neal's IV. The doctor thanked her and she checked over the other equipment before leaving again.

"Hopefully that will help you some. Your throat will be sore for a few days, and I want to keep an eye out for any swelling, standard procedure for a patient who has…experienced the trauma you have. Now, if everything remains good after an overnight, you can be out of here tomorrow. We'll also see each other again in two weeks when you get your stitches out. Just press that button again or Agent Burke can go to the nurses station if you need anything." Dr. Frederick gave them both a smile and left.

Neal sighed and closed his eyes; the bright light of the room had done nothing good for the pain in his head. He heard Peter shifting in his seat beside him.

"Can you just get mad now instead of waiting for later," Neal whispered. His throat was sore and loud noises were as painful as the bright lights. Peter sighed and took a hold of his hand.

"Neal…I'll admit I was a bit mad when I found out you had left. I was mad that you kept the note from me and you didn't trust me enough to tell me about it." The twinge in Neal's heart had nothing to do with the pain from the overdose. "But-" his surprise at the simple word was almost enough to get him to open his eyes again. "I can understand _why_ you did it. During the time we spent waiting for you to wake up, El sat me down and smacked some sense into me before I got really worked up. Neal…" Peter let out a deep breath and the grip on Neal's hand got really tight. "You really, _really_ scared me, Bud. I noticed all of these things around the house that indicated Sharp had broken in. A professional killer was in my house. And then you were gone and…"

Neal squeezed back and opened his eyes. This wasn't something he should say looking at the back of his eyelids.

"Peter…I can't say I'm sorry. Sharp would have killed you and El if I hadn't left and met him. Peter, I _do_ trust you. Honestly, you're really the only person I trust with everything. But I care about you and El more than that trust. If I have to break it to keep you two safe then I will." How pathetic was it that Neal felt exhausted after his little whispered outburst?

Peter sighed and ran his fingers gently through Neal's hair. The young man instinctively turned towards the affection, making Peter smile.

"I know how you think, Neal. Like I said, I can understand _why_ you did it. That doesn't mean I'm not allowed to worry about you or be scared for your safety or mad when you run off to meet with a killer." There was a soft knock on the door and then El stuck her head in.

Her face broke into a wide smile when she saw that Neal was awake. She crept in and Peter gave her his seat by Neal's side.

"Well, I'm sure Peter here already read you the riot act…but I'm going to say my piece too. Don't you ever do that again, Neal Caffrey. I knew what I was getting into when I married an FBI agent, and I'm always terrified that one day he might not come home. Then he brought you home, and you became part of our family. I can't stand the thought of losing you too." Neal would forever blame his head injury, but a few tears slipped through his defenses and fell down his cheeks.

El didn't comment on them, as she wiped them away with her thumb. She sighed and smiled at him.

"I'm so glad you're safe. Though, I might have to take a chunk out of the paramedic who gave you too much sedative." Neal's forehead furrowed in confusion rather than pain that time.

"Why did he even do that? I…I remember telling Peter about the whole lobster shell thing and then they…came over. They wouldn't stop asking questions and telling me I needed to go to the hospital." Peter nodded and patted Neal's foot at the end of the bed.

"You were getting a bit hysterical actually. I think it was a combination of the shock and your head injury. You were adamant about _not_ coming here, and then the male paramedic snuck up while I was trying to calm you down and jabbed a needle into your neck. The amount of sedative he gave you was five times the amount you should have been administered." As Neal let that information sink in, he lifted a hand to rub his face and noticed that he had stubble. It jolted him enough that he winced from his full body jerk.

"How…how long have I been out?" Peter's jaw clenched.

"Almost two days. There was…concern that you would slip into a coma, what with the sedatives combined with your head injury. The Bureau is pressing charges against the paramedic for what he's done to you." When Neal started to protest, Peter held up a hand. "Neal, once is a mistake. But this is a pattern for him. You were the fifth person he's overdosed. One of his victims was a child. If we didn't press charges, the hospital would have within a week."

Neal sunk into the bed and just accepted the situation. He thought the man had made an honest mistake. However, once is a mistake. _Five times_ is a serious problem, and when that mistake is dosage given to a patient, there should never be more than one mistake.

His mind suddenly did a complete one eighty and he asked Peter a question.

"How's Marshal Roberts doing? I'm sure it was…hard for him. Doing what he did. No matter what the man has done, he was still Roberts's uncle. At one time, the Marshal loved him." Peter knew that Neal was having small flashbacks to Kate and realizing someone he loved was not who he thought they were.

It was a completely different scenario, but that wouldn't stop Neal from feeling a slight connection and understanding.

"He's…as well as can be expected. He arrested his partner and killed his uncle all in one day. That's a lot for anyone to deal with. He's distracting himself with work though. Marshal Roberts is scouring the city for Connor Sharp." Neal could have slapped himself.

"I totally forgot to tell you. You don't have to worry about Sharp coming after you anymore. Or after any of us actually." Peter straightened up immediately and went into what Neal blearily labeled "agent-mode."

"Did Derk call him off or something?" Neal started to shake his head and then thought better of it.

"No. I got the…distinct impression that Sharp didn't like working for Derk. He heard agents coming in and just up and left. Said…he didn't want to be caught. Then told me that I didn't have to worry about him coming after you two anymore." Peter huffed and raised a brow.

"And you believe him?" Neal sighed and closed his eyes; his energy was quickly depleting.

"Yeah. He's one of those guys who goes by a code. Don't…get me wrong." Neal paused for a yawn, biting back a groan as the tension on his neck irritated the bruises. "He's a scary…guy. But he only kills who he has to or is contracted to…and apparently only if he thinks it's worth it. If he…killed a fed and his wife…it'd bring the whole Federal…Bureau…of Investigation down on…his head." El ran her fingers through his hair much as Peter had done earlier, and Neal could feel himself slipping away.

The next time Neal woke up, it was morning, and the Director was sitting at his bedside. A quick glance showed Peter and El were nowhere to be found. The Director gave him a small smile once he realized that Neal was conscious.

"I sent Agent Burke and his wife home for some rest and a shower. I wanted to talk to you and I was willing to wait." Neal tested out some muscles and was pleased to find the overall pain was at a much more manageable level. He pushed himself up into a seated position.

"Sir. I…uh…I want to thank you." Hughes furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side.

"For what, Caffrey?" Neal looked uncharacteristically shy and uncomfortable and plucked at the blanket covering his legs. Hughes knew then that he was getting a glimpse of the _real_ Caffrey.

"For believing me at the beginning. For not handing me over to the Marshals to be someone else's problem." Hughes was quiet for a few moments, before giving a soft reply.

"You're welcome, Neal." Then he sat forward and Neal looked back up to meet his eyes. "Now, Caffrey." Oh, Neal knew that tone. It was the two-finger beckon tone. "That stunt you pulled, running off to meet a professional killer that we spent days trying to _hide you from,_ is not acceptable. You are a _consultant_. You don't do the crazy, stupid, dangerous things. That's the job of trained agents with badges and guns. If I hear about anything like this again, it's bank and housing frauds for a whole month. Understand?"

Neal winced. He'd be chained to his desk and go stark-raving mad in two days. After a moment, Neal nodded.

"Yes, Sir." Hughes gave a single sharp nod and stood.

"I like you, Caffrey. I'd rather not have you end up in the hospital again." With that, Hughes left. Only a few moments later, Diana and Jones came in to say hi and give him basically the same threat (though Diana's involved more bodily harm).

Eventually, the Burkes returned, quickly followed by Dr. Frederick. The doctor informed them that Neal could be discharged and was expected in two weeks to have the stitches removed from his temple.

Neal was ecstatic to be free from the hospital, but as he was wheeled out (under much protest) and got into the car with Peter, he realized something. A heavy weight hit his chest and settled in his gut. He looked down at his hands and absently rubbed one thumb with the other.

"So…I guess, it's back to June's for me, huh?" Peter's reaction was not one Neal had anticipated. The man snorted.

"You really think El will let you go now that you're kind of officially acknowledged family? Or that I would for that manner?" The last bit was tacked on and a lot quieter, but Neal still heard it. The heavy weight released and a smile automatically tugged at his lips. A family. Something he hadn't had in a long time, now he finally belonged.

 **Epilogue: Two Weeks Later**

"Just keep your eyes on me, Bud. Remember to breathe. Neal!"

"Right. Breathing. Oh my- how big is that thing? Why- Ow ow ow."

"Neal, breathe. You're fine. Hard part is over. Now just sit there and let the doctor do his job." Neal rolled his eyes and muttered,

"Easy for you to say." He tried to close his eyes and breathe deeply, forget that he was getting his stitches taken out. He winced as he felt a tug.

" _Ow_."

"Neal, the area is numbed." Neal scowled at his partner.

"Then why can I still feel it!? Ow!" Dr. Frederick sighed.

"Mr. Caffrey, this would go a lot quicker if you kept still. I don't have any needles anymore." Neal tensed and tried to keep as still as possible.

"Yeah, well…you're still a doctor that's way too close to my face. This face is my job, Dr. Frederick. I'm a con man for the FBI. How do I know you're not gonna mess this up and I'm going to look like Frankenstein's monster for the rest of my life?" Both Peter and the doctor rolled their eyes at the theatrics Neal was putting out, but they also both knew that it was to cover up how scared Neal was. One thing Peter had learned from this whole ordeal was that his partner absolutely hated hospitals and was legitimately terrified of anything involving needles.

After ten minutes of a lot more whining, the doctor was finished and cleaned up the area. Once he was done and put some antibiotic cream on it, he held up a small hand mirror for Neal. The young man let out a sigh when he saw it was nowhere near as bad as he had been imagining. He set the mirror down and smiled.

"Thanks, Doc." Dr. Frederick smiled.

"I'm just doing my job, Mr. Caffrey. Now apply antibiotic ointment twice a day and there are plenty of scar creams available, but I wouldn't recommend using them for another four days. If you have any concerns, don't hesitate to come back." Dr. Frederick smiled at the two men, before taking his leave to treat other patients. Neal hopped off the table and soon the two were headed out the door.

Peter rolled his eyes as Neal practically skipped out of the hospital, but that didn't stop the fond smile blooming on his face.

Neal, his co-worker, his partner, his friend…his son. It took a horrific event for him to acknowledge it, but now that he had, he would never deny it again.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **The first ow ow ow Neal does is because the numbing agent was applied via needle. At least, that's how I pictured it.**

 **Tell me what you think and thank you again for sticking with me on this journey! :)**


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